The Lonely and the Fallen
by Arudon
Summary: Castiel is dying. He knows it, it is undeniable. The only way he could survive would be to change vessels, but no human on this earth has the strength to care for a dying angel. It's physically impossible. You'd need two hearts to even attempt it. Wait, what's that strange box? This is what happens when a dying angel meets a good Samaritan. Slight Destiel
1. Chapter 1

**Pretty sure I don't own either of these franchises, or this would have happened a long time ago**

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The rain poured down that night like never before, the heaven's seemingly emptying their watery cargo onto the unoffending planet below. It was almost flood-like, the amount of rain, and lightning flashed across the sky.

Castiel struggled through it, holding a hand to his side in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He was weak, and he was dying. He knew that. But if there was one thing that he had learned from the Winchesters, it was to never give up, no matter what.

He had thought that he could stand up to Raphael. He had thought he could control the powers he attempted to play with. But instead, he had only managed to make the archangel even more pissed off than before, and had unintentionally released the leviathans into the world. And now he was dying.

He looked at his hand, red with the blood from his vessel, and he knew that no amount of human medicine or angelic healing could save him. His vessel was dying, and he along with it.

He had put Jimmy to sleep long before now, in order to spare him the pain of dying. He knew that his vessel would be going straight to heaven for housing him, but he was still sad. Castiel would not be joining him. For angels, there was no afterlife. There was only non-existence.

He struggled to draw in another breath, and gasped as the moving of his chest forced more blood out of the already leaking wound in his side. By his estimation, he had already lost about a gallon of blood, and if he lost anymore, it would be the end. But he was alright with that. He was fine. He had made peace with god, and he recognized that this was punishment for his failures. He had failed, in everything that he had tried to do. He had failed as an angel.

He had failed to save heaven. He had failed to stop the seals from being broken. He had failed Balthazar and almost killed him, when really he had only been acting with Castiel's best interests in mind. He had failed as a guardian for the Winchesters, and had abandoned them when they needed him most. He had even broken Sam's wall down intentionally, and that was something that he could never forgive himself for.

He had failed so many times.

And yet…

And yet, he didn't feel like it should end this way. He didn't believe that he could just die like this, alone and unwanted, unable to even attempt to fix his mistakes. He didn't want to end it. Not now. Not yet.

Castiel pushed himself off the tree, dragging his bleeding, dark wings behind him. His jet black feathers were all thoroughly soaked, and he didn't have the strength to keep the appendages raised. And so they trailed behind him on the ground, making strange markings in the mud. Occasionally a feather would pull off, the onyx quill wilted and sad, a shadow of its former radiance.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Lightning flashed above him, and Castiel turned his defeated blue eyes to the heavens. Perhaps it was time to end it after all, he thought. His eyes lowered to land on an open field that was almost ankle deep filled with water. Sloshing forward, the bleeding angel trudged out into it, the rain making it almost impossible to see. Lightning was almost always attracted to the tallest thing around, and if he put himself in the middle of the field, he was almost sure to be struck. And then it would all be over.

Lightning flashed again overhead, and Castiel pulled up short. He began to breathe rapidly, panic threatening to overtake him as he started to hyperventilate. "Please, someone help me!" he whispered, his eyes shifting to the dark clouds above as his stood in the center of the rainy field.

Suddenly, a sound filled his ears that he had never heard before. He felt a strange energy wash over him that reminded the angel so much of heaven's limitless supply of grace, but strangely…wasn't.

He couldn't place the feeling, but as he listened the noise began to get louder, a sort of groaning and whooshing sound combined into one. He slowly turned his head to spy a glowing light that pulsated every few seconds, growing stronger with each flare. Slowly, in steady beats, the noise began to increase, and before the astonished angel's eyes, a blue box appeared in the middle of the field, humming slightly. The feeling of not-grace washed over him again, and this time Castiel shuddered as he felt an almost telepathic presence rush through his mind that seemed to emanate from the box. It was warm, like a mother's caress, and soothed the dying angel. Of course, Castiel had never had a mother. Or a real father.

The door to the box swung open, and the angel was dazzled by the light emanating from it. He closed his eyes to shield them from the intensity, but was too exhausted to move anything else. Suddenly, arms were around him, guiding him forward and supporting his weight. "Don't worry, I've got you," whispered the person. 'A man,' Castiel thought. 'A British man.'

Suddenly, the rain stopped, and he felt warmth all around him. Castiel opened his eyes to peer around his surroundings, and gasped as he saw a room the likes of which he had never seen before. It was massive and circular, and in the center stood a large cylinder that pulsated with an aqua blue light. The walls were darker, and supported by coral-like columns. He didn't get to admire it for very long before his body convulsed, pain shooting out from the gaping wound in his side, and he flopped down onto the cold metal grille beneath him. The man above him began to fret around him, and Castiel let out a groan and tried to move his hand.

The man gently held his arms down while he flipped him over and propped him against something that allowed Castiel to sit up partially. "It's all right. You're safe," the man said calmly, hardly more than a whisper in the dying angel's ear. Now that his eyes were open, Castiel could finally get a good look at the man who had saved him.

He had brown, spiky hair that seemed to defy gravity and stuck up in the air. He wore a pinstripe suit and pants along with running shoes. He had a sweeping brown coat that was actually longer than Castiel's own, and had a calm, smooth complexion.

It was his eyes, though, that told Castiel that this man was far from ordinary. His body was young, but his eyes were old. Very old. He could see it in his deep brown eyes that held so much sadness and pain. But Castiel could also see hope in those depths. Despite all the pain and suffering this man had seen, all the death, he still retained hope. Hope that Castiel wished he still felt.

"Who are you?" the wounded angel asked, staring into the eyes of the man who was kneeling before him.

A thin smile spread across the man's lips. "Trust me, I'm the Doctor," he said warmly.

"Doctor Who?" asked the confused angel.

A grin broke out on the Doctor's face. "Exactly!" he exclaimed cryptically. "Now, don't worry, you're in the TARDIS. That stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space. I got your message on my psychic paper," the Doctor said as he took out a wallet and flipped it open, only to reveal a blank piece of paper.

"What message?" Castiel asked, his head swimming in confusion. He had honestly only understood half of what the Doctor had said, and was still struggling to draw breath.

His confusion was mirrored by the Doctor, who looked perplexed at the angel. "Don't you remember? You asked for help, see!" the Doctor exclaimed, holding the psychic paper in Castiel's face. Castiel looked again, and this time he saw Jimmy's neat scrawl across the paper, reiterating his cry for help. He was about to respond when his body was racked by pain as more blood pushed out of the wound. The dark winged angel let out a whimper of pain, and the Doctor immediately was there, his hands running over the angel's body in soothing motions.

The Doctor's brown eyes alighted on the dark wings extending behind the angel. They had powerful perception filters on them, and he doubted that any human would be able to see them. "Naturally occurring perception filters. Brilliant!" he breathed out, before his mind was brought back to the present as his patient once again shuddered in pain.

Reaching a hand into the pocket of his coat, he brought out his trusty screwdriver and sent a scanning wave over the man in front of him. Castiel looked up blearily as he heard a strange high pitched whirring noise that passed over his body, and a blue light filled his vision before disappearing.

The Doctor listened as the screwdriver relayed its findings, and his eyes widened. "You're an astral creature inhabiting a human body! Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! But wait, you're also…oh…" The Doctor's grin faded as he peered closer at Castiel.

_Dying_

"I'm sorry," The Doctor said softly. "I'm so sorry."

He flicked the sonic over the angel again, this time trying to find the source of the injury. The sonic flashed red when he passed it over the right side of the angel, halfway up his torso. Gently, the Doctor placed his hands on top of the Castiel's. "Do you mind if I...?" the Doctor started to ask, his brown eyes staring at his patient's face until the angel gave a small nod. Gently, the Doctor gripped the bloodied hand and lifted the appendage away from the wound. Using the screwdriver again, he cut through the fabric of the coat and other layers to expose the deep stab wound.

Castiel shrieked in pain as the sonic waves hit the open wound, and the cut began to spark and frizzle as the energy of the angel blade wound began to speed up, killing him faster than before. The Doctor immediately shut the screwdriver off and pressed a pad to the wound, whispering apologies over and over again.

"How did you get that?" he asked finally. Castiel was panting hard as the pain coursed through his system, but the soldier of heaven refused to acknowledge it. "Raphael," he grunted through gritted teeth. "Crowley…the demon…betrayed me. Gave…Raphael…the blood...instead." Castiel gasped out, before convulsing again. The Doctor's soothing presence was immediately back, his essence spilling over the angel in a manner so reminiscent of grace.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, brown eyes full of worry as he stared at his patient. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that the answer would be negative, and his hunch was confirmed when Castiel gave a tiny shake of his head.

"My vessel is dying," he whispered hoarsely, his voice having given out by now. "The only thing that could save me would be to transfer to a different vessel. But even that wouldn't work," Castiel said, all hope leaving his gaze. The Doctor, however, was not so quick to give up. He had lost Rose, Donna, Martha, and even Jack, and he sure as hell wasn't letting this angel die. "Why?" he asked urgently, his hand gripping the sides of Castiel's face to force the angel to look at him. "Why would that not work?" he demanded.

Castiel stared evenly in front of him, his eyes gazing through the Doctor as if he wasn't there. "No human on this earth has the physical capability of sustaining a dying angel. They would use up their life force too fast and burn up with me. You would need two hearts to even begin to accomplish it."

As he said these words, a fire seemed to be lit in the Doctor's eyes, and his hands tightened just a fraction on Castiel's face. The angel's eyes drew back to the Doctor's own fiery brown, as if just noticing him. The Doctor chewed his bottom lip for a moment, debating with himself whether or not to follow through with the plan he was concocting in his head. His Timelord mind raced down a million paths at once, before finally he reached a conclusion.

"What would it take for you to possess someone?" he asked, drawing a startled look from Castiel. The angel was flabbergasted, had the man not heard what he had just said? "What?" he asked, forgetting his pain for a moment to focus on what the strange man had just said.

"No questions, just answers. What would it take for you to possess someone? I assume it requires a little bit on the hosts part, or you would have jumped ship long before now!" the Doctor replied earnestly.

Castiel nodded. "Angels need permission to enter a vessel. The host has to say yes," he gasped out.

The Doctor's eyes became firmer, pinpoints of brown fire. "Then I say 'Yes!'" he said.

Castiel's mouth dropped open. "Did you not understand what I said earlier? No human, not even you, can support me. It's hopeless!" he cried, attempting to gesture with his arms only to have them be caught by the Doctor.

"Of course I heard you," the Timelord said calmly. "How could I not. But I'm not human, and I'm much stronger than them," he said softly, his brown eyes full of kindness.

Castiel was beyond shocked. "What?" he gasped out, his blue eyes wide with complete and total incomprehension.

The Doctor took firm hold of one of Castiel's hands and placed it on the right side of his chest. Castiel felt a firm heartbeat beneath his fingertips. "I'm saying that I have two hearts," the Doctor whispered, moving Castiel's other hand to the left side of his chest, where the angel felt another heartbeat.

1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4 went the hearts, and Castiel could only look on with awe at the power surging beneath his fingertips. The sheer energy contained within the Timelord. It was truly formidable.

"Who are you? Why would you do this for me?" he asked, unable to believe that a failure like him was worthy of being offered such a chance. The Doctor looked at him with a kind and knowing smile. "I am the Doctor, last of the Timelords. My home planet is Gallifrey of the constellation of Kasterborous. I am nine hundred and fifty three years old, and I am doing this for you because you deserve it."

Castiel was speechless, staring incredulously at the man before him as if he were God himself. He wondered for a moment if this wasn't just a product of his delirious mind. The Doctor took his hand again, as if to ground him in reality. "And I'm saying: Yes."

Castiel nodded. That he understood.

"Are you sure?" he asked, wanting to be absolutely positive that the Doctor was aware of what he was asking. "I'll be in your head, in your body, in your very soul. I'll be feeding off you like a parasite, and I-"

"Yes, I already considered all of that, and I am perfectly aware of what will happen to me. But I also realize what will happen to you if I refuse. I am well aware of the risks and consequences."

Castiel eyed him warily before shifting to try to stand. The Doctor immediately grabbed him and helped him up onto his feet, the angel's back supported on one of the coral columns and his limp wings spread to either side. The Doctor backed away and held his position, his feet planted and his arms held loosely at his side, his eyes locked with that of Castiel. Behind him, the heart of the TARDIS pulsed with power, radiating the strange grace that Castiel found so attractive and exotic. "Are you ready?" the angel asked, his blue eyes locking onto the fiery brown ones of the Doctor.

The Timelord let a grin crack across his face. "Allons'y!" he cried.

Castiel exploded into brilliant white light, his arms thrown back and his wings outstretched as the angel's essence left the body of Jimmy Novak for the first time since Castiel had entered it. The bluish-white smoke surged forward, surrounding the Doctor before melting into his skin, the angel's essence wrapping around his soul and settling into his body.

The Doctor gasped as the angel's power exploded inside of him, and suddenly, a part of him shifted. He looked down at his hand to see that it was glowing golden, like it was going to regenerate. But this wasn't regeneration, it felt different. No, this was something completely different. It was change, yes, but not a physical one. It was a change in spirit. In soul. In _grace_!

He flung his arms out and tilted his head back, the combined energy of Time and Grace exploding outwards from him in a great fireball.

He was The Doctor. The Oncoming Storm. The Predator of the Daleks. The Last of the Timelords. Defender of Earth. He stood at the center of time and space, like ice and fire.

The Lonely Angel.

He was Castiel. Angel of the Lord. Champion of Heaven. Preventer of the Apocalypse. Defender of Humanity. Guardian of Sam and Dean Winchester, and he stood at the center of the Supernatural forces on Earth.

The Fallen Angel.

And then, they were one. They were Castiel and The Doctor. Timelord and Angel. Together in one body. Burning with the power of Righteous Grace and the entirety of the Time Vortex.

Time and Matter bent before them.

They were a raging storm, unstoppable, unquenchable.

Six great, powerful wings exploded from the Timelord's body, dark raven feathers coupled with golden artron energy that practically dripped off of them. The Timelord's own grace, time itself, fed the dying angel, and renewed them both. Inspired them.

Together, they were whole. No longer lonely. No longer Fallen.

"I am the Doctor, angel of the lord."

"Allons'y!"

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**Ohhhhhhhh, that was fuuuuuuun!**

**I was thinking next chapter would be Balthazar. Or...Oh, I know:**

**Lucifer.**

**This. Will. Be. EPIC!**

**Rate and Review if you want more!- **Arudon


	2. Chapter 2

**Glad that you like the first chapter. Here's some more**

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The Doctor's body was sprawled across the console room floor, face up, with his six impressive black and gold wings spread out behind him. Or was it Castiel's body now?

The two had collapsed after the merging, their consciousness both shutting down to allow the Doctor's body to accustom itself to having the foreign energy inside of it. The possession process had been so intense that the Doctor had feared his body would just straight up regenerate. Fortunately this was not the case, and he had been allowed to keep his face.

He now rested in a dream-world, a big flat patch of nothingness created by both his and the angel's subconscious minds. He was currently sitting with his back resting against an indistinct bump in the ground that might have been some kind of bush. In front of him stood Castiel, looking like he had before he had crossed into the Doctor's body. However, neither man had any semblance of wings on them, and both were buck nude.

The angel of Thursday was looking off into the distance of the dream-realm, where he could see roiling white billowing clouds and a powerful golden sea that seemed to be fighting. His blue eyes were filled with puzzlement as he continued to stare, not understanding exactly what he was seeing.

"It's our essences, you know," said the Doctor's voice from behind him, starting Castiel from his reverie. The angel turned slowly to look at the other man, who was playing carelessly with the strange mist like substance that seemed to permeate the entirety of this realm.

"What?" Castiel asked, growing a little tired of asking that question. The Doctor flashed him a grin before standing up from his seat on the ground. Slowly, he walked over to stand by the angel, his eyes directed out to the roiling clouds and sea. "Those clouds, they're not really clouds. They're what you called your grace," the Doctor said, extending his hand to gesture towards the bluish white essence. Castiel turned his eyes from the Doctor and back to the horizon. "So that sea is…" Castiel started to say, before he was cut off by the Doctor's quick interjection.

"That's me. Or rather, that's the time vortex energy that pulses within me," he explained, and Castiel turned his head to look at the other man. The Doctor turned to face him as well, his deep brown eyes meeting the ethereal blue of the angel's. "I don't understand," the angel said softly, his eyes peering into the Doctor as if to try to pull the answers from the depths of the man's being.

The Doctor gave a light laugh before returning his eyes to the horizon. His grin slowly faded, and Castiel watched in amazement as the sky above them grew dark, shifting from the blank whiteness to a dark, surreal background. The Doctor's eyes grew sad, and suddenly a great orb appeared in the darkness, red and glowing. "I was born on Gallifrey, the home of the Timelords," he said, the orb expanding until Castiel could see that it was indeed an image of the Doctor's home planet. The image shifted, as if the viewer was falling towards the sphere and hurtling through the atmosphere.

Castiel gasped as he saw knee high red grass stretching across an incredible valley, while mountains capped with golden snow soared high in the background. "The Timelords were the oldest race in the universe, sworn to observe all of time and space, never to interfere." The angel watched the accompanying images as a man dressed in a deep red robe and ornate head-crest filled the sky.

"We were taken at the age of eight to begin our initiation process into the academy," the Doctor said, his brown eyes glowing with sadness. "We were brought out at night, and made to stare into the untempered schism. Sort of like a crack in space and time, through which you can see all of reality all at once. Eight years old…" the Doctor's voice trailed off, and for the first time since meeting him Castiel could truly believe that the man was over nine hundred years old. He looked up to see a swirling wormhole, pulsating with time and power, the kind of which could drive you mad.

"Some were inspired," the Doctor continued, his voice threatening to crack. "Others ran." He looked down as he said this. "And some," the Doctor practically whispered. "Went mad." The images that flashed across the sky grew distorted and grotesque, and Castiel forced himself to look away.

When the sky cleared, the angel allowed himself to open his eyes. Turning, he stared with wide blue eyes at the man standing next to him, in awe of his power.

"Which one were you?" he asked quietly, to which the Doctor suddenly laughed out loud. "Oh, Castiel, which do you think I was? I ran!" he cried, his laughter ringing out across the empty space. "I ran so far and so fast. I never stopped actually," he said quietly, his grin still resting easily on his face.

He shook his head. "Anyway, that's what that energy is," he said, gesturing to the roiling sea. Turning, he gazed at the angel next to him with his intense brown eyes. "So what about you, Castiel? What's your story?" he asked with amusement in his voice. Castiel allowed a small smile to come onto his face, turning his eyes to look from the sea to the clouds.

"My story isn't as dramatic as yours, Doctor," he said, rolling his shoulders a bit as his eyes slowly got a faraway look in them. The Doctor could swear he saw the starlight reflected in those deep blue eyes of his. "I was one of the last angels that my Father made. I never actually saw him. God, that is," he said quickly when he saw a quizzical look in the Doctor's gaze. "Angels are different from humans and other creations of god, as we aren't given much free will. We're mostly just expected to obey without question, going around like good little soldiers."

The Doctor wrinkled his nose at Castiel's description. He was a free roaming spirit, and the idea of taking orders from anyone was repulsive to him.

"For most of my life I was just an emotionless hammer. I was there at the slaughter of every single firstborn in Egypt, and I was there when Sodom and Gomorrah fell." Castiel's eyes were unreadable, a blank expression on the angel's face. He looked down at his feet, shifting them in the mist.

"But I was always different from my brothers," he said, his voice soft and light, contrary to his normal gruffness. "Naomi said I had a crack in my chassis, and that I never fully followed my orders. I tried to save one of the children in Egypt, and I did not agree with all the wanton destruction that took place during the old testament." He looked up at the clouds again, his face once again unreadable.

"That all changed one day when I received the order to save a human from damnation. His name was Dean Winchester." An image flashed across the sky of a young man with dirty blond, crew cut hair and moss green eyes. "He was saved to be the vessel of Michael, and his brother, Sam, was to be that of Lucifer. Together, they were supposed to fight the apocalypse. But they refused, and I joined them."

A smile appeared on the angel's face, looking pleased for the first time since he had begun speaking. "Together, the Winchesters and I stopped the apocalypse, but Sam was cast into the pit along with Lucifer and Michael." Castiel's face fell, the dark memories of his next deeds coming back to him.

"I thought that I was strong, that I was better than others. And so I raised Sam from the pit."

It was the Doctor's turn to look awed, and he stared at the man next to him with open shock. "You can do that?" he asked breathlessly. "You can actually raise people from the dead?"

Castiel nodded. "I can, and I have done so on many occasions. However, this time, I wasn't able to bring all of Sam back. Instead, I brought him back soulless. Eventually, after making a deal with the horseman Death, we were able to put his soul back in, but with a wall placed around the memories of hell to keep Sam from going insane. That should have been my warning. Should have showed me that I wasn't infalliable. I should have spent more time with them." Castiel shook his head.

"I was fighting a war however, against my brother, the archangel Raphael, and I d didn't have time for them. Foolishly I decided to use some desperate measures, thinking that I could control whatever god put in my way."

Castiel began to speak faster, as if doing so would make the next part easier to admit.

"I forged a deal with a demon. Crowley, king of hell," he said, his starry blue eyes heavy with shame. "Together, we plotted to open a portal to Purgatory, where I could retrieve the fifty thousand souls stored there. We should have left it alone," he said, casting his eyes downward as an image of Crowley crossed across the sky, and the Doctor felt a strange ping of recognition when he looked on the man's face. Maybe it was someone he had seen before? Or will see? The Doctor didn't know, and his thoughts were once again recaptured by the angel of Thursday as he continued to speak.

"Crowley gave me the wrong blood. He was incensed that I had gone back on our deal, and so he gave the proper blood to Raphael." Castiel shivered as he remembered his older brother staring down at him with those cold brown eyes, just brimming with righteous fury. "I confronted them as they were opening the portal, and as a result they botched it. The creatures from purgatory, Leviathans, escaped out into the world, and I was wounded by one of Raphael's pawns."

The angel's hand went to his side, unknowingly rubbing the spot where the angel blade had been thrust into his body.

The Doctor's eyes softened as he gazed at the angel. "And then you called for help. And I came," he said softly, his eyes full of compassion. "It's alright, you know," he said softly, and the angel's celestial blue eyes met his timeless brown ones, Castiel's face displaying nothing but bafflement by the Timelord's statement.

"How can you say that?" he asked, cocking his head to the side in bewilderment. "Do you even understand what I did? I released the Leviathans. _Leviathans_!" he cried, his voice rising. "They are the most terrible, horrible monsters you can imagine. They can easily kill an angel, and they devour human flesh as nourishment. They were locked away by God for a reason, and I went and broke the seal, tampering with things that should have been best left alone. How can you possibly forgive me for that?" he asked, his voice quivering with an almost frantic questioning tone.

He stopped speaking all together went he felt a warm hand cup his chin and raise his eyes to meet those of fiery brown. The Doctor looked evenly into the eyes of the soldier of heaven, un-judging, and his eyes were full of empathy. "I understand," he whispered softly, his voice echoing through the angel's thoughts as the Timelord's mere presence seemed to calm him.

"I too have done terrible things," the Doctor said, his voice betraying not a hint of the storm raging behind those fiery brown eyes. "I am the last of the Timelords for a reason. I fought in one of the greatest wars ever fought, and in the end, I had to choose between letting my own people wipe out all of time and space, or destroy both the Daleks and Timelords alike. I can never go back to that planet, Castiel. I can never go home. On that day, Gallifrey burnt."

The Doctor's eyes finally betrayed some of the inner turmoil he was feeling, the raging fires giving way to reveal the loss and sorrow the Doctor carried with him always.

"So when I say I understand, Castiel, I mean it," the Doctor insisted, placing both hands on the angel's shoulders and turning to face him fully.

"I ruined my home," Castiel whispered, his blue eyes reflecting the starlight of the heavens.

"And I burnt mine," the Doctor countered, his own eyes burning with the fires of time.

"And together, we can find redemption," the Doctor said, his face hardening with determination.

Castiel paused, and cocked his head to the side slightly. "Can we?" he asked. "Can we really find redemption for all that we have done?"

The Doctor paused as well, before determination once again reformed on his features. "Castiel," he whispered. "I am going to tell you something that I have never told anyone else in the universe," he said.

"I'm going to tell you my name," he said quietly, as he leaned forward to place his lips right by the angel's ear. Then, he whispered something quietly, so quiet that all you could see was his lips moving.

Castiel gasped and immediately began to glow white, as the Doctor embraced him, his own thin form beginning to glow with a golden energy. Behind them on the horizon, the golden sea of the Time Vortex surged skyward, while the bluish white clouds of Angelic Grace descended, embracing the sea in a warm welcome. Together, the Doctor and Castiel seemed to merge, while behind them the sky and sea swirled together, their two energies mixing like never before. As the process continued, the Timelord's mind and the angel's consciousness swirled together, sharing memories until they were indistinguishable.

He was no longer just the Doctor. He was no longer simply Castiel. They were gone forever, and where they ended, a new man was born, created from the fires of time and space.

He was the sainted Physician, the angel of Thursday.

He was the Doctor, angel of Time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Here we go!**

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With a gasp, the man's eyes flew open, revealing burning brown eyes with flecks of celestial blue strewn across the irises. Beneath him, his six powerful wings shuddered, opening and closing as they spasmed, while the TARDIS began to hum, tails of artron energy seeping from the console to supply the angel with new grace. His two hearts began to beat with a vengeance, and his nervous system finally finished adjusting to the changes of anatomy.

The Doctor sat up, running a hand through his hair, before feeling a trace of the feathers on his back. Running a hand through his new wings, the angel couldn't help but admire how they had changed. No longer were they simply black, as they had been before. Now, they had an ethereal golden glow to them, and scattered through the black was an occasional golden feather, each of which pulsed with the grace from the heart of the TARDIS, the Time Vortex filling up the angel of Time with its miraculous energy.

The Doctor finally stood up and stumbled over to the console, his only thoughts were occupied with the need to find the Winchesters immediately. He had left them in terrible danger, and he had to return to them quickly. He only hoped that he could save Sam, and that Dean would forgive him. Turning the levers on the console, the Doctor took the TARDIS away from the rain soaked field and into the time-vortex. Outside the walls of the TARDIS swirled the fabric of reality, the shields of the ship holding it back with her own colossal power.

Now that he was no longer strictly an angel, he could sense all the warding sigils he had placed on his two charges, regardless of if they were meant to keep him away or keep track of them. And with his new power, he could feel them calling to him from across all of space and time, as clear as if it were a foghorn right next to his ear. He programmed the view screen to show the locations, and noted their positions. Sam was at Northern Indiana State Hospital, and Dean was a few miles south with the older hunter, Bobby Singer.

The Doctor's smile lifted his features as an image of Dean and Bobby in the Impala flashed up on the screen. The Doctor was about to start his usual routine of dashing around the console when he paused and took a look at his wings.

The six, huge wings hung gracefully behind him, the feathers soft but sleek, obviously meant for use. He stretched them experimentally, and an idea suddenly formed inside his mind. The TARDIS was supposed to be piloted by six people, hence all the running around and extra leg-work the Doctor usually had to do. Six people, six wings. The Doctor's smile grew.

Tentatively, he stretched out one of his right wings and touched it to a lever. With a little push, the wing forced the lever up and into the correct position. The central column began to move up and down, and the TARDIS's distinctive noise began to radiate throughout the ship as it set off in a new direction.

Dashing around, the Doctor used all eight of his appendages to manipulate the TARDIS controls, his six huge wings surprisingly dexterous and capable of stretching across the console to press controls on the opposite side. Within a few moments, the ship landed with a thud. The Doctor did a quick check on the screen and found that he had landed about two months from when he had found his other half. In-precise, but still, what can you expect. She is a type 40, after all.

Laughing, the Doctor sprinted to the door and opened it looking around at the hospital ward he had landed in. He had set the TARDIS to land silently and invisibly, so as not to alarm anyone when he arrived. Then, looking around, the Doctor's brown and blue flecked eyes landed on the sad figure of Sam Winchester.

The tall man was dressed in a hospital patient's attire, and his long, lanky form was stretched out face up on a bed. His eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead of him at the ceiling, but every few seconds his body would twitch or his finger would move. His expression was that of a cornered animal, fear printed on every angle, and his long brown hair was a rat's nest. All in all, he was a pathetic shadow of the man that he had been before.

The angel of time slowly walked over to him, his hands in the pockets of his long brown coat, a sorrowful expression on his face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered, and his voice caught the attention of the prostrate man. Snapping his brown almond eyes to the side, Sam stared at the Doctor. However, his hallucination driven mind did not see the Doctor standing there, but instead the monstrous version of the archangel that had tormented him in the pit. "No," he whispered in fear, his eyes wide as he watched Lucifer scan him over with a strange blue device.

The Doctor frowned at the feedback his sonic screwdriver had given him. The tool had been amped up with the heavenly grace of its user now, and could now identify practically any sort of supernatural anomaly. It could even do wood!

Apparently, Sam was still stuck in his hallucinations, and there was no hope of replacing the wall. There was actually very little the Doctor _could_ do without hurting Sam.

Turning about, the Doctor strode into the center of the room and flared his wings, picturing exactly where he wanted to be. With a flap of his wings and a flare of his unique grace, the Doctor was gone from the hospital room and in the back seat of the Impala. Smiling, he opened his mouth to deliver his usual greeting.

"Hello Dean,"

"Son of a Bitch!" Dean screamed, and the car swerved to the side of the road.

* * *

Dean was not happy. In fact, he was downright pissed off. The Leviathans were everywhere, causing havoc and eating people. And now, there was a British idiot smiling at him from the other side of the street, his hands in the air in the universal sign of surrender.

Dean and Bobby had freaked out when the man had first spoken, skidding to the side of the road and immediately attacking the intruder. The man had disappeared, and both he and Bobby had scrambled out to see him standing near the trunk. Dean had his gun out in instant, trained on the man's head.

He was, probably, the strangest man he'd seen in long time, and that was saying something! He had a long, deep brown coat that almost brushed the ground over a pinstripe suit with trainers. He had an idiotic grin on his face, and hair that seemed to be defying gravity. He heard Bobby cock his shotgun next to him, and the older hunter's presence reassured him a bit.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, cold green eyes staring into the strange brown eyes of the man before him. He noted, with some interest, that the man's eyes had small flecks of bright sapphire blue interwoven with the brown, making him seem almost otherworldly. The man's smile didn't leave his face, but rather than seem creepy like Dean knew it should, it seemed almost familiar.

"Hello Dean," the man said again, his British accent prominent with every word he spoke. Still, something about the way he said those words, a certain inflection and shift in tone, was strangely familiar to the hunter, and he couldn't shake the feeling off. His shoulder began to ache, the one with the handprint on it, but that only happened when he was around…

"Cas?" Dean asked softly, his mouth side open in shock. Beside him, Bobby glanced at Dean as if he'd lost his mind, but Dean only had eyes for the man before him as the angel slowly nodded his head.

Slowly, Dean lowered his gun, but didn't holster it. His other hand went quietly behind his back, where he gripped the handle of his angel blade stored in its sheath. Recent experiences with the angel had taught him to be wary of Castiel. "What happened to you man?" he asked quietly, still in shock.

The angel of time slowly lowered his hand and approached cautiously, taking slow and deliberate steps to keep from alarming Dean, until he was within a few feet of the hunter. His smile had faded, but the warmth was still there. He purred happily inside as he saw the warmth returned somewhat by the hunter, indicating that while not entirely forgiven, he still had a shot at convincing the hunter that he was sorry.

"I was stabbed by Raphael's pawns, as you saw," he said softly, motioning to the spot on his torso where his previous vessel had been struck. "I was dying, and I called out for help. This man found me, and I merged with him. You can call me the Doctor now," he explained, and one eyebrow rose on Dean's face.

Suddenly, in a blur of motion, Dean grabbed the Doctor and spun him around, pinning his back against the hood of the Impala while an angel blade came to rest on his throat. "You better start explaining better," Dean growled, his green eyes filled with fury. "'Cause last time I saw you, you were two steps from being angel dust. And now you expect me to believe you can just hop into a new vessel? And what's with this, 'Doctor' crap?" Dean growled out, his gruff voice echoing in the angel's ears.

"Dean, stop. Just listen," the Doctor said quickly as the hunter applied a little more pressure to the blade. "I'm right here and waiting, so you better start talking," Dean said, his gaze boring into the Doctor's, daring him to cross him.

The angel sighed. "The Doctor found me after I had given up hope. I was ready to die, but he was willing to host me. He's not human, Dean, but he's not a monster."

Dean's eyes flew open at that, and a snarl ripped from his throat. "Anything that's not human is either an angel, a demon, or a monster, Cas. What's this thing eat? Hearts? Brains?"

The angel shook his head. "He's a Timelord!" he cried, and that halted Dean's aggression. "What, so he's like Chronos?" he asked, his eyes staring into the brown and blue flecked orbs.

The Doctor shook his head again. "I merged completely with him Dean, and he is nothing like what you can imagine. He is not a monster or a god, but he is powerful. He has saved humanity time and time again, and you've never even known he was there. He is the Oncoming Storm, the Sainted Physician, the Lonely God. And now, he's my vessel!"

With a snap of his grace, the angel blade went spinning out of Dean's hands to fly across the street, clattering and clanking loudly. Dean looked in shock as golden artron energy flowed out from the man, outlining his six powerful wings that were draped over the car. The Doctor seemed to glow with power for a moment, but then it died away, the energy flowing back into his body, and the wings disappeared from sight.

Dean and the Doctor locked eyes for a moment, a silent battle of wills taking place between them, before finally Dean conceded and let go of the Doctor's coat. The angel of time watched the hunter back away, and slowly slid off the hood of the car, his wings folding in behind him. Their gaze was broken by a cough from Bobby, the gristled hunter having been completely forgotten during the course of the confrontation.

"Well, now that we've gone and reacquainted ourselves, is there a particular reason you came to see us?" Bobby asked, his shotgun still cocked in his hand. Dean may have cleared things with the man before him, but Bobby was still wary.

The Doctor seemed to ignore the man's apprehension and immediately answered his question. "Yes, I did. I came here to tell you that I'm going to try to heal Sam."

Dean and Bobby both glanced between each other, obviously doubtful that that was the only reason. "And you had to get us for that?" Dean asked, drawing the Doctor's attention back to him.

The angel smiled. "Yes, I need you there to comfort Sam when he wakes up and also to protect him in case something goes wrong," he said, his mouth moving faster than should be possible.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "And why would you want to do that? I thought you had washed your hands of us when you decided to go all 'my way or the highway!'"

The Doctor shook his head again. "I told you when this was all over that I would save Sam. And that is what I intend to do," he said confidently. Dean nodded and opened the front door of the impala, climbing in and starting the engine. Bobby got into the shotgun seat, and after a moment of deliberation, the Doctor got in the back. Pulling off the side of the road, Dean set off north, heading towards the hospital.

* * *

After a few errors, the Doctor eventually managed to lead them straight to where Sam was. His connection to the TARDIS helped immensely, and before long they were standing before the man as he twitched on his hospital bed. The Doctor walked forward and peered down at him, running an diagnosing scan over him with the sonic. Dean had been astounded by all the things the tool could do, and the Doctor had promised to give him one ("I'll never have another problem with my baby again!")

The diagnosis was the same as before, and the Doctor still saw no way of getting rid of the memories. He couldn't perform a mind wipe, even with his combined Timelord and angel skills, for they were too powerful to be destroyed. After running several calculations through his head, the Doctor came to the conclusion that the only way to cure him would be to transfer the memories to someone else.

And the Doctor knew that he could never force anyone else to carry this burden. He had caused it, so he would fix it.

Turning to Dean and Bobby, he told them his plan. "But then you'll be a vegetable just like Sam," Bobby said, his frown on his face. The Doctor shook his head. "The memories are specifically meant for Sam. Technically, if I took them, they would fade, since their not meant for me. Also, I have the advantage of a Timelord mind. The Timelords' greatest weapons were always our minds, and I highly doubt a few memories would prove to be much of a challenge," he said.

However, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, which were full of sadness.

Rule 1: The Doctor lies

He doubted he would be able to do all he said. Sam's case was very serious, but he was an angel of his word. He would do whatever it took to fix Sam.

Slowly, he approached the prostrate hunter. Sam's almond brown eyes fixed on him, full of fear. "Alright Sam, this might sting a bit. And if I don't get to say it later, I'm sorry."

"No!" gasped Sam, his mind still hallucinating.

"Hush, now. Don't worry. It looks like you need a Doctor," the angel of time said, before placing two fingers on Sam's temple. Immediately, red lines shifted from Sam's head into the fingers, up his arm, across his chest, and into his eyes as the Doctor drained the memories of hell from Sam.

With a gasp, Sam blinked, glancing at his brother, Bobby, and the man who sat before him. "Who are you?" he asked, and the Doctor glanced down at him.

Immediately, all color left the Doctor's face and he sprang away, his eyes wide and his mouth open in horror.

Instead of Sam, there was a man with a black hoody over a red t-shirt lying down on the bed. Blond platinum hair adorned his head, and golden stubble covered his leering face. Stretched out on the bed were six monstrous red wings, their color the same as blood.

"Hello Doctor," whispered the man on the bed, his brown eyes staring at the retreating angel. Those eyes were dancing with insanity, and a ring of gold wrapped around the iris of each eye. That was a feature that always stayed with him, no matter the face.

"No, please no!" the Doctor whispered, pressing himself flat against the wall, his six black wings hugging himself as if to protect him from the man before him.

"Use my name!" the man hissed, staring hungrily at the Doctor.

"Master," whispered the Doctor, and the room was suddenly filled with the insane laughter of the manic Timelord.

"Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" he hissed, and the Doctor collapsed.

* * *

**Now, just to clarify something. I will be referring to the angel/Timelord hybrid as the Doctor, because while their consciousnesses have completely merged, it is still the Doctor's body, and he retains the right to call himself by his own name. Besides, Castiel at this point was ashamed of his actions, and it's almost therapeutic for the angel to refer to himself as something other than his given name.**

**Anyway, Rate and Review- **Arudon


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, you seemed to enjoy the last few chapters, but I think a little explanation is needed. Here you go!**

* * *

"Will it stop Doctor?" the Master asked, staring into the horrified, sorrow-filled eyes of the Doctor as he lay in the other's arms on the bridge of the Valiant, feeling his life slipping away through the bullet hole in his chest. "The drumming!" he gasped. "Will it stop?"

"Please, I can help. Just let me help!" the Doctor cried, his eyes full of torment, desperation, and fear bordering on hysteria. "_Regenerate!_" he cried.

The Master's breathing began to grow faster, and his eyes bugged out. Liquid splashed onto his face, tears falling from the eyes of his oldest friend. "I win," he whispered.

The pounding in his ears was growing louder, and louder, and louder, and LOUDER!

1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4! **1-2-3-4! ****_1-2-3-4!_**

**_1-2-3-4!_**

And then, suddenly, his eyes rolled back, his lids closed, and the Doctor was now the last Timelord. Once again.

The Doctor cradled his body to his chest, the tears streaming from his eyes as an anguish unimanginable to any other creature pulsed through his body.

"_Nooooo!_" he screamed into the Master's head as he began to rock back and forth, clinging to the other's body as if physical contact would bring him back. But nothing could.

Koschei was dead.

* * *

The Master opened his eyes slowly, before his brow furrowed in confusion. 'This is the afterlife?' he thought, looking around at the massive stretch of chains, darkness, and smoke. An acrid smell wafted into his nose, and his acute Timelord senses picked out blood, sulfur, and burning flesh. Somewhere far below him he heard a scream of pain, and the smell of blood grew stronger.

The Master was about to get a better view of his surroundings when a noise slammed into his head.

1-2-3-4! 1-2-3-4!

The Drums! They were back! The Master closed his eyes as he felt the loving caress of insanity embrace his mind, the Drums banging about in their usual tandem, calling him to fight, to conquer, to own, to _rule!_

**_1-2-3-4! Bang!Bang!Bang!Bang!_**

He was the Master, and he would be damned (HA!) if he was just going to sit here and let someone else dictate his fate. He opened his eyes, the golden rings that were present in every one of his regenerations wrapping around his irises as the drums grew louder in his head. Those rings were always so hypnotic, allowing him to practically gaze into a person's soul.

Twisting to the side, the Master saw that he was suspended over a vast, black, smoky void by chains that were hooked into his skin. It didn't hurt unless he moved, and even then it was only a small tickle. He could feel his body (was it his body or his soul?) already working on trying to heal over the wounds. Timelord anatomy was much more advanced than human's, and the Master, if he wished it, could shut off the pain receptors in his brain. He could be electrocuted in the balls, and he wouldn't even feel a tingle.

The Master heard a series of screams coming from the right, and he looked over to see another soul (probably one of the gormless apes that inhabited this backwater planet) writhing in pain as a smoky, seven armed figure with deep red eyes hacked into it with the rusty claws that adorned three of his hands. The creature apparently had no problem hovering over the abyss, and he winced as he heard a huge tearing sound from the tortured soul.

Obviously the creature was meant to be here, and if he was to get any answers, he might as well get it's attention. Hopefully without arousing its ire.

"Oi, Smokey! Mind telling me where the hell I am?" he cried.

Let it never be said that the Master was cowardly.

The creature turned its huge, ugly red eyes on the Timelord. A perverse grin spread across its features as it ripped its claws out of the tortured human, who gave a little whimper.

Let it also be said that the Master wasn't exactly the fastest TARDIS in the vault either. Apparently he had made a wrong move, he thought, as the creature floated over to him with a wicked smile on its face.

"Welcome to Hell!" it cried, and the Master wrinkled his nose. The creature had the worst voice he had ever heard, and being over a thousand years old and having visited almost every planet in the known universe (and there were far too many of those, in his opinion) that was saying something. It sounded like a tortured cat had been made to gargle some gasoline before being chucked into the time vortex without a TARDIS. The creature's smile grew wider as it slashed its claws across his torso, slicing through the fine suit that he had been wearing on-board the Valiant.

The Master looked down at the deep claw marks that now adorned his chest and heaved a huge sigh. "A shame. I really did like that suit," he said sarcastically, shutting down the nerves on his chest. The smoky figure looked at him in shock, the smile falling from its face to be replaced by a slight scowl.

"ALASTAIR!" it cried, that shrill, grating voice echoing across the abyss and making the Master wince again. "I'VE GOT A LIVE ONE FOR YA!" it cried, and the Master felt a ripple pass through the smoky air that surrounded him, and suddenly he and the creature were joined by a much larger, twelve armed demon. Instead of red eyes, this new creature had glowing pure white eyes that were devoid of anything remotely pupil shaped. The Master looked appraisingly at the creature.

Now here was one that he could respect. He could see the fastidiousness about the white-eyed demon's appearance, not a speck of dirt on its powerful form. The Master could tell just by the way it moved that this was a creature that was set in its ways, and happy with what it did. The smell of blood, smoke, and fear practically radiated off the demon in toxic waves that set the Master's skin alight with unpleasant sensations. Truly, it was a step up from 'red eyes.'

"Alastair I presume," the Master intoned, drawing the creature's white eyes to his own insane brown and gold ones. He felt a little probing on his mind, but he didn't even try to throw up any mental barriers. Let the creature try to get in if it was that stupid, he had the perfect defense mechanism.

Alastair was a demon of considerable age. He had been one of the first to be converted by Lucifer, and had gone to hell in biblical times. Over the course of twelve thousand years (that's hell years, not earth years) he had worked his way up to Grand Master Torturer. In all that time, he had seen all sorts of twisted and chaotic soul's pass through, but none had had any real value. A few here or there that he had enjoyed breaking, but none that really caught his eye.

He always enjoyed getting into his victim's head, learning their darkest secrets so he could torture and hurt them more efficiently. But as he entered this man's mind, his entire body wracked in pain as a noise surged across their psychic link. Drums. A banging, crashing, incessant beat of four. It was so loud and forceful that Alastair couldn't even form a proper thought, and with growing horror he felt the rest of the man's mind beating in symphony with the Drums, bathing in the madness it brought. With a horrified gasp, Alastair yanked out of the damned soul's mind, breaking off the psychic contact. He saw the man smirk up at him, and couldn't help but shiver as he heard, in his own, demonic head, and echo of the Drums.

"Who are you?" he breathed out, his white eyes widened with horror. The man smiled at him, insanity and mad genius etched across his face. "I, my dear creature, am the Master!" he said triumphantly, the name rolling out of his mouth like it was pure sin. He turned his eyes onto the two demons, who were still looking down on him.

"Now, obviously I am not on earth, otherwise I would know exactly where I am. So, question of the hour, gentleman, is 'Where am I?'" the Master said, flicking his eyes back and forth between the red eyed and white eyed demons. As he spoke, he felt the cuts on his chest knit back together, his Timelord healing prowess showing itself, not even leaving behind a scar as was customary for a soul in hell.

Alastair must have once again found his courage, because a smirk split his face from ear to devilish ear as he answered the Master. "Why, my dear, you are in Hell. Surely my…" he broke off, looking at the red eyed demon with a considering gaze. "Friend here, explained that to you." Alastair said the word 'friend' like it was the most disgusting word in the English language, which the Master wholeheartedly agreed with. Who needs friends, when you can have slaves? Friends were a concept that the Master found so very Doctorish.

"What do you mean, hell?" he asked, putting his 'not funny' face on. Oh, that had been a laugh, killing the cabinet like that! His mind was drawn back to Alastair as the demon chuckled. "Must I explain everything to you little humans?" the white-eyed creature drawled, obviously annoyed. "When people have done really bad things," he said, beginning to speak to the Master like an adult would talk to a whining toddler. "They go to hell as punishment. Didn't Mummy teach you that?" he asked, an overly smug grin on the Grand Master Torturer's face.

The Master looked ready to leap out of his restraints and strangle the white-eyed idiot. How dare he talk to him like that! Only the Master was allowed to do that!

"Rassilon, you're dense!" he cried in exasperation. "Of course I know what hell is! I'm just wondering what I'm doing in it! I mean, I know that I deserve it, more that anyone really, but still, I should have been shot to oblivion. Not sent here like some pathetic hairless ape. And you really think I'm going to believe this is hell? I suppose you're going to ask me to believe you're demons next. And that there's god and angels, and, oh, Satan maybe. Because I'm not that dense, and I have seen things that you cannot possibly imagine!" he shrieked, the Drums banging away in his head, urging him to lash out and destroy these pathetic imps.

Alastair smirked. "Oh I think we're going to have fun with you," he said softly, grabbing the Master with six of his twelve arms, yanking him out of his chains and dragging him deeper into hell, where he would spend the rest of his days until he emerged as a demon.

* * *

The Master was bored. Really, he was. It had been two hundred years by his count, and Alastair seemed to be exhausting his supply of ideas on how to make the Master have any kind of reaction. For someone who had been crowned "Grand Master Torturer of Hell," the white-eyed demon was really unimaginative. The Master had even provided a few pointers on how he could do his job better, which just made the demon angrier.

The Master hardly ever felt the blades on his skin or in his body. He just ignored them and fantasized about all the ways he would shiv and screw the demon over when he finally got out of these chains. Every time the demon tried to get into his head, the Master let him, allowing the Drums to wash over his consciousness, slowly driving the poor demon insane. Sometimes he would scream and pretend to be in severe pain, giving the demon a false handhold, if only to get some amusement out of his situation when he saw the demon's face fall when he discovered his ruse. Once, the Master allowed the façade to go on for a week, before growing tired of miming pain and allowing his shrieks to turn into low chuckles.

And never once, in all his time in hell, did the Drums relent. They provided a much greater torture than anything Alastair could possibly hope to imagine. They were there, in his mind, pounding away, calling him to greatness and power, but the Master was shackled, unable to follow the call.

And so, when the Master finally left hell, he stuck his tongue out at the arch-demon as he swept upwards, back into the land of the living.

* * *

The Master opened his eyes, looking around as his body materialized in a swirling column of blue energy. His backup plan had worked, and now his followers were giving their lives so that he, their Master, could live again.

"Never," the Master gasped, his chest heaving as his lungs reformed, filling his abdomen with sweet, clean air that he had not breathed in over 200 years. "…Never Dying! _Never Dying!_" he cried out victoriously, his laugh echoing around the room.

His gaze turned forward, catching the eyes of two terrified hairless apes. "Oh, Lucy!" he cried, stretching his arms out to the idiotic woman who had killed him. "Oh Lucy Saxon, my ever faithful! Did the widow's kiss bring me back to life?" he called, puckering his lips.

"Stop it Harry!" she shouted, and his nose wrinkled as he heard the disgusting human name he had made for himself. "Can't you see you're killing them?" she implored, tears welling in her stupid human eyes. The Master looked down his nose at his pathetic followers, who were by now kneeling, their life force being drained so that he could live. "Let them die," he said with a smirk, truly not caring. "They're just the first. The whole stinking, stupid, human disgrace can fall into the pit!"

He took in another breath, bathing in the column of light formed by the souls of his foolish followers. "Can't you hear them, Lucy?" he asked, closing his eyes as he felt the soothing, crashing melody of the Drums course through his head. "The Drums," he whispered softly, as if saying the name of a long forgotten lover. Lucy shivered as that voice that was sweet as sin washed over her. "Louder than ever before," the Master hissed, opening eyes and gazing at the human before him with an almost fondness.

His eyes hardened, however, as he saw Lucy stand and pull out a flask of liquid. "But I knew you better than anyone, Harry, and I knew you would come back. And while you made the potion of life, I contacted some people who were clever enough to produce the opposite!" She uncapped the flask, and the room was suddenly pervaded by the sickly sweet scent of death. "Don't you dare!" the Master cried, his eyes flicking to the side, where he saw a tall man in a suit appear out of thin air. '_A reaper'_ he thought, and he suddenly became desperate as the gravity of the situation hit him. "I am your Master!" he shouted.

"'Till death, do us part, Harry!" Lucy cried in a sickeningly smug voice, and the Master screamed as he watched her hurl the potion of death at him. As it shattered, the building exploded with blue fire, and he felt a horrible tearing in his gut. Looking up, he watched the reaper approach him, steadily reaching out to try to collect his soul again. With a cry of rage, he hauled himself to his now corporeal feet and launched himself at the agent of death, hands out wide and mouth twisted in a snarl. By now he was nothing more than pure animal instinct, his rational mind having almost shut down from the pain. Now his actions were only dictated by his will for survival and the never ending drums that were screaming at him to survive, to kill, to dominate, to _win, **to consume.**_

**TO EAT! EAT! EAT! EAT!**

When the Master finally came to, he was surrounded by burned bricks and rubble, and a strange emptiness had settled in his stomach. Looking around for the reaper, he realized that he was sitting in a cold spot. An area six feet across where no flames dared to enter. Looking down, he saw a charred body that he realized with a start was the remains of the reaper. He had eaten him whole.

Suddenly, a ripping sensation surged through the Timelord, and the Master fell to the ground, clutching his head in a grip so tight that his knuckles turned white. He opened his mouth wide as pain consumed him, and let loose an ear piercing scream that echoed across the cosmos.

* * *

A continent away, in a convent, a portal of light was opening slowly, a great hole into nothingness. The Winchesters had turned and fled already, and they were not able to witness the rising of Lucifer.

The fallen archangel stood there, his six huge, battered red wings spread proudly behind him, floating over his prison, free for the first time since the dawn of humankind. Blood flowed from wounds all over his body, memories of the pit of torment where he had been cast by Michael in the first war. All around him, the convent began to burn up, his power immolating the structure. He needed to find a vessel quickly.

Suddenly, a head splitting cry of pain burst through his mind, a telepathic cry of agony so profound that the Devil could do nothing but halt and listen. It was a cry for help, and the source was definitely mortal, but he was equally certain that it was not human.

Flexing his red wings, he transformed into a great swirling mass of glowing blue white energy, his grace diminished immensely but still powerful. He sailed across the states, over an ocean, before landing in a small ruined building. He saw a man sprawled on the ground, clutching his head and screaming in agony. The telepathic cry came again, so strong in intensity that Lucifer physically flinched. Sending a trail of thought towards the man, Lucifer attempted to breach his mind. However, he was thrown back by the sheer force of a noise: the sound of Drums. He intensified his thoughts, and suddenly broke through the maddening sound.

'What on earth is wrong with you!' he shouted, peering into the alien mind. The fallen angel was shocked to find that this man, despite appearances, was far from human. He detected a great consciousness that was well over a thousand years old, and had seen over a dozen lifetimes. Strange that so much knowledge could be packed in so tight a form, and especially one as damaged as this.

Lucifer paused for a moment. He felt a strange sort of grace pulsing off of this man, a sort of not-grace that emanated from the mortal's soul. Taking a sip of it, Lucifer's entire being shuddered in ecstasy. That energy! It tasted like the sweetest fruit and finest wine the fallen angel had ever had the pleasure of beholding, and it practically radiated power. The devil could feel it in him, healing his broken grace, calling him to grandeur and glory. It wasn't a lot, but certainly enough to make a difference in his overall power.

'How the hell are you able to stay in my mind?' asked a harsh voice, and the archangel recoiled, surprised that the man had been able to reply to his telepathic call. What's more, the man was looking straight at him. At his true form. And his eyes weren't being burned out.

Well, this was certainly interesting.

"Who are you, little mortal?" Lucifer asked in his true voice, enjoying the feeling of finally being able to speak after thousands of years in the pit. He was more than shocked when he saw the man before give a little smirk, not even flinching at the sound of his voice. "Oh, are we speaking out loud now?" he asked with a cocky smirk. "I thought we were having an intimate moment there, what with you up in my noggin'."

Suddenly, a flash pierced through the man's body, and he collapsed back to the ground clutching his chest, his face again contorted in pain. Lucifer rushed forward, his huge form kneeling down to cradle the man.

Lucifer's true form was massive, easily twice the size of any skyscraper, and his six massive wings, when fully extended, could cover an entire city. Of course, no one could see him in that form, and he couldn't interact with anything physical. So why did he feel a solid connection when one of his massive fingers soothed over the ailing man?

Better question: why did he care? He hated the mud monkeys more than anything, and this one should be no exception. A frown formed over his beautiful face, and he leaned closer, shrinking his form down until he was roughly the size of the man. Still intangible, but now able to see eye to eye.

The Master flinched as he felt a slight breeze trail over his form, and his eyes snapped open before immediately squinting to avoid the radiance of the creature before him. He felt semi-solid arms wrap around him, holding him in a cradled position that was oddly intimate. The Timelord slowly opened his eyes more, allowing the orifices to adjust to the intensity, until finally he could look upon the form holding him.

His breath caught in his chest, and his twin pulses quickened. He had lived for over a thousand years, seen more sights and strange creatures than anyone else in the universe, and had even held the time vortex in his being for an entire year. But he had never seen another creature more beautiful than the one before him.

It was impossible to describe the face of the devil, for it was always changing into something more breathtaking than the last. His form was made entirely of a glowing white essence that was near blinding, all excpet for his chest, which was made of pure darkness and was sucking in matter like a perverse black hole. In and in and in.

Six massive, bloody red wings stretched away from him, big as the room they were in, and glowing with power. The Master turned his eyes onto the creature's face, truly afraid for once in his long life. He had no doubt that this creature could wipe him from existence with only a thought, and this time there would be no coming back. "Who are you," the Master whispered reverently, the drums in his head quiet for once.

The creature smiled. "I asked first," he said, in a voice that was dripping with seduction and power. The Master tilted his head to the side, and a silly little grin split his face. "True," he said softly. "I tell you mine, you tell me yours. I'm the Master," he said with a grin, holding his hand out in a mock handshake.

The devil smiled softly, amused by this mortal's flirtatious mannerisms. "Lucifer," he said, and accepted the hand the Master offered to him.

Instantly, both of their hand's grew hot, and the Master ripped his away with hiss of pain. He shook it a few times until the heat dissipated, and then looked back at the creature still sitting before him. Lucifer just sat there stunned, unable to believe what had just happened. "We're compatible," he said softly, more to himself than the Master. The Timelord looked at the fallen angel with a mix of confusion and disbelief. Then, his mind seemed to register the name of the creature who was cradling him, and he recoiled out of the creature's grip, scrambling back a few feet on his hands and feet, trying to put some distance between them. Lucifer did nothing but stare at his own singed hand, which was healing rapidly before his eyes.

"Lucifer?" the Master asked, his voice cracking a little. "As in, the Devil? The king of Downstairs?"

A laugh escaped his mouth, his head spinning with the irony of he, the Master, killer of millions, being cradled by the Devil. "That Lucifer?" he asked, looking at the creature with newfound interest.

The angel's only move was to turn his head towards him with a strange look in his ever shifting eyes. "You and I are fully compatible," he said again, completely ignoring the Master's question, his sweet as sin voice dripping with what might have been awe. "You're not just a possible vessel, you're more than that. It's like you're made for me!" he said, his voice becoming more excited as he spoke, and suddenly he was right in the Master's face, a leer on his face that was positively disturbing.

The Master didn't recoil this time, though, and instead allowed the Drums to once again wash over his mind, taking solace in their strength. "What do you mean, vessel?" he asked slowly, his mind working through all the possible connotations that could mean. He remembered Alastair once telling him about how demons can only walk the earth in human vessels, or "meatsuits," as the demon's called them. A term that the Master had found all too funny then, but now that he was a possible candidate for such a word, he found far less amusing.

"I need a physical form to walk the earth. You are one of the few vessels that can not only sustain me, but might even be able to hold me permanently!" Lucifer said, his eyes flashing with wonder, as if the Master was some kind of exotic butterfly that had gotten itself trapped in a jar for him to examine. The Master didn't like that analogy at all; _he _was the one who was supposed to make people uncomfortable!

'Strange,' Lucifer thought to himself. 'I thought only Sam Winchester could do that.' He was brought out of his musings as the Timelord shifted a bit.

"Let me get this straight," the Master said slowly, a grin spreading across his face that was eerily similar to the one that Lucifer wore. "Am I being asked out on a date? By the Devil?"

He threw his head back and laughed loudly, truly amused with the whole situation, and the drums became just a little bit louder. Lucifer also let a small laugh, truly intrigued by this mortal's complete lack of fear. "Basically, yes," the archangel said softly, his eyes taking in the form of his prospective vessel.

The Master raised an eyebrow, not trusting the entity before him. "What's in it for me?" he asked, before letting out a scream as a sharp pain ripped through his midsection and his body flared, turning translucent for a moment to reveal his bluish colored bones.

Lucifer was there in an instant, wrapping his strong, cold arms around the Master and soothing away the pain. "Well, for one thing, I could find a way to fix you," he said softly, and the Master's eyes brightened a bit at that prospect.

From his brief look into the man's mind, Lucifer had seen that he was far from human. He had some truly admirable traits, such as a life force that dwarfed a human's, and a body that was biologically stronger and more stable than a fragile human's. That is, he would if he were in a more stable condition, but from what he had seen his life force and body had been rebelling against each other, causing an imbalance in the chemical makeup and forcing him to destabilize and act out in bursts of energy. If he could somehow stabilize the Master, then he would be a truly incredible vessel.

The Master looked into the eyes of the Devil and pondered his options. He saw three before him: One, he could say no, and the angel would probably leave him to die. Two, he could say no, the devil would leave, and he could call the Doctor. The Master shook his head at that thought; he did not need that happy go lucky do-gooder running around trying to 'fix him.'

So that left option three: say yes, and let the devil fix him. He looked into the face of Lucifer, and saw himself reflected back. A grin cracked across his face. 'Well, here goes nothing,' he thought, hearing the Drums pounding along to the rhythm of his thoughts. "Sure, why not?" he said. When all Lucifer did was cock his head to the side, the Master let out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, are we doing this formally? All right, the answer is yes!" he said, and he saw the largest grin he had ever seen appear on Lucifer's face.

Suddenly, Lucifer's form evaporated into a glowing white mist that swirled around the destroyed building before flowing into the Master's open mouth. The Master had a brief sense of déjà vu, as he recalled how he had once possessed a human this way after he had crashed the Doctor's TARDIS after his so called 'execution.'

He felt the archangel's essence pooling in his chest and wrapping around his soul, mingling with the Time Vortex energy that had been part of him since he was eight years old. He felt the drums shift, now a little softer and more soothing than anything else; spread more thinly across two minds rather than one. There was a brief struggle over who would remain in control, before the Master heard a voice in his head speak to him.

'_Relax, I can't fix your body if you're in control. Besides, there are a few things I have to do before I can let you go. Please, just give me your body!'_ Lucifer begged, and the Master laughed a bit. '_Oh, what kinds of things?_' he asked, still not relinquishing total control yet. A Timelord's main weapon was his mind, and the Master had always been, well, a _master,_ when it came to the mental arts. He could feel Lucifer's massive power pressing in on him, but he was more than strong enough to fend him off.

Finally, Lucifer consented. '_Try the extinction of the human race,_' he said, and the Master practically leaped for joy when he heard that pronouncement. '_Oh, goody, that sounds fun! When do we start?_' he asked, and he heard Lucifer's amused laughter. '_As soon as you give me your body,_' he said. The archangel felt the Master smirk. '_And after we're done with that?_' he asked, wanting to be sure of the ground rules before he signed away his…well, not his soul, necessarily, but certainly his body.

Lucifer sighed. '_After that, well, we'll do what's best. But I won't control you. I doubt I could stop you from watching what I do with your body, as you're more than capable of navigating your own mind. Plus, I doubt I could be able to manage with these damnable drums in just _my_ head. How can you stand them?_' he asked.

The Master laughed. '_Years of practice. Now, you won't try to put me to sleep, and I won't try to kick you out. And after we're done with the apocalypse and you've healed me, I get off scot free. Do we have a deal?_' he asked, offering a mental hand.

Lucifer smiled. '_We can negotiate the fine details, but you have a deal._' And with that, he took the hand.

Lucifer opened his eyes and filled the lungs of his new body. He immediately set to work stabilizing the vessel, and shuddered when he felt his wings rip out of his back. Standing up, he admired his body. He was clad in dark jeans, a red t-shirt, and a black hoodie. His face and hands exuded power, and crackled with his powerful grace. Inhaling through his nose, Lucifer reveled in the Timelord's senses. The nose alone was capable of picking up scents ten miles away, and his eyesight was sharper than any human's.

Flaring his massive red wings, he tilted his head back and let out a cry of triumph, before launching himself high into the air with a kick from his powerful leg muscles. Sailing a mile into the sky, he looked down on the scrap yard where his vessel had been residing, and his mind was filled with disgust. The drums were banging away in his head, telling him to destroy the wretched place. He pushed his feet down, forcing the air to solidify, so that he was standing straight up, looking down on the place from a mile above the earth's surface. Raising his hand, he felt his power pool and flex, and heard the Master whisper '_Do it!' _softly in his ear. With a shout, he released the energy and shot a beam of pure power, a combination of grace, lightning, and artron energy out of his hands, immolating the ground beneath him and setting off a massive explosion. The fire roared high in the air, curling in on itself and hurling outward, as if praising the Master of Darkness. Lucifer tilted his head back and laughed, reveling in his victory.

The Master...reborn

The Devil...walking free

_The Master of Darkness, reborn! _

With a flap of his wings, he was gone.

* * *

**Wow, that took a while to write, but oh was it worth it. This was just an explanation of two psychopaths meeting and connecting. You'll see how it ties in next chapter. Basically, the Master is going to replace Nick as Lucifer's first vessel. You'll see, it will all make sense soon.**

**All right, rate and review. Ta-ta!- **Arudon


	5. Chapter 5

**Alright, here's the continued story of the Master and Lucifer. This should answer most questions, and if not, just PM me and I'll be happy to explain. All right, here's the fruit of my labors:**

* * *

'_Why are you wasting your time with that Winchester boy?_' the Master complained. Lucifer was currently sitting in a hotel room in Detroit, listening to a report from a low level demon. With a wave of his hand, the Devil dismissed the demon, not really caring what the alpha shapeshifter in Seattle wanted. Leaning back, he turned his attention inward to talk to his current vessel.

"I already told you, my dear Koschei, I need him to fight Michael. It's not my choice, it's just that he's my destined dance partner. My prom dress, so to speak," he said exasperatedly, weary of the argument. He and the Master had been having a running dispute ever since he had visited Sam Winchester in dream form and told him that he was his true vessel. The Master had been outraged that Lucifer would ever consider a hairless ape to be superior to him, and if he was to be perfectly honest with himself, it hurt him a little bit. Who knew that the Timelord could be so possessive?

'_So what am I then? Your casual wear? Rags?_' the Master asked, hurt evident in his voice. Lucifer sighed. He really did love the Master, but sometimes he could be so difficult. "Of course not," he said softly, trying to placate the alien. "I promise, as soon as I'm done with Sam, I'll come right back to you. Besides, you're about ten times more comfortable than any human. And who wears their prom dress more than once?" he asked, trying to cheer the Master up a bit.

He heard a huff from his vessel's mind, indicating that the Master was satisfied but still pouting. '_It's still not fair though. I could take Michael down easy enough, without us having to go through all this trouble!' _the Master cried.

Lucifer let out a light, heartfelt laugh. "I know, little one, I know. But I still say it would be too risky. You're body is still not fully stable, and I don't want you to be damaged." He sent a tendril of his grace to soothe over the soul of his vessel, and he felt the Master arch in response. '_Hmmmm, you always know how to cheer me up, don't you Lu?_' the Master said with a sigh.

Lucifer smiled. "Always."

* * *

Lucifer stood in the shadows of the small room, staring at the circle of fire that encircled his younger brother. He remembered Castiel from his days in heaven. He had been one of the Morningstar's favorites, always so bright and chipper, eager to learn and to please. How fitting that he would fall, just like his mentor had before him.

He watched impassively as the angel slowly looked around in confusion before his brilliant, impossibly blue eyes landed on his form. "Lucifer," he said softly, fear etching itself onto the younger angel's face.

The fallen archangel stepped out of his corner and strode to stand more in the light. "So I take it you're here with the Winchesters?" he asked calmly, crossing his hands behind his back. Castiel pivoted in the circle, making sure to not take his eyes off the devil. "I came alone," he said, his rough voice conveying his truthfulness. _'What a fool he is, throwing his life away for creatures that are hardly worth his notice. He is so like the Doctor,_' the Master commented, only to be quietly shushed by his angel.

"Loyalty," Lucifer mused. "Such a nice quality to see in this day and age," he said with a light laugh. He tilted his head slightly, regarding the young angel before him. Castiel was quite beautiful for a lower class angel. His dark, pure black wings glistened in the light of the holy fire, reflecting the light and showing off the power that he still held, even in his weakened, fallen state.

"Castiel," Lucifer said quietly, once again moving so as to stand further in the light, his six red wings spreading out a bit to provide an intimidating display. "I heard you came here in an automobile," he said with a hint of curiosity.

"Yes," Castiel said quietly, shifting nervously as he eyed Lucifer's intimidating wings. "What was that like?" Lucifer asked, not missing the motion of the other angel. "Um," Castiel started, shifting again, obviously confused as to why he was being questioned in this manner. "Slow," he finally said. "Confining," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Lucifer's curiosity rose. This angel had obviously defied heaven and fallen from grace, yet he still responded to him as if he were a superior. It was an amusing contradiction. "What a peculiar thing you are," he said, stretching out his hand.

It was at that moment that his body had another flare up. The longer the devil stayed in this body, the fewer and less intense the flare ups grew, but they still happened occasionally. As it was, Castiel's eyes widened, and his wings contracted around his body, as if afraid that Lucifer were about to strike him.

"What's wrong with your vessel?" he asked, his tone of voice bordering on worry. '_See, told you. He is so like the Doctor. Worrying about his enemy! Ha!_' the Master laughed, and Lucifer mentally smacked him.

"Yes, I picked him up shortly after I got out. This man had pulled himself out of hell all on his own, and was damaged. He was compatible, so I asked, and he said yes. I'm still fixing him, but after all, he's not really the one I want," Lucifer said with a small smile. '_Hey, you watch your mouth!'_ the Master cried. 'Hush, I don't mean it. Just play along here,' Lucifer said quickly, and sure enough, his words caused the younger angel to forget himself.

"You!" he cried, and lunged forward, stopping at the very edge of the fire circle, before remembering where he was and who was talking to. Slowly, he backed away a few steps. "You are not taking Sam Winchester." Castiel's voice was calm, but there was a definite edge of danger to it, and Lucifer felt a small flash of pride ripple through him at how his student had developed. "I won't let you!" he growled, and the fallen archangel smiled a little at his naiveté.

"Castiel," Lucifer began, moving once again to walk around the perimeter of the circle. "I don't understand why you're fighting me, of all the angels!" Lucifer said, elevating his voice so as to make it sound more like a brotherly scolding.

"You really have to ask?" Castiel growled, shifting again so as to keep Lucifer in his direct line of sight.

"I rebelled, I was cast out! You rebelled, you were cast out!" Lucifer said, his voice rising in exasperation. "Almost all of heaven wants to see me dead, and if they succeed, guess what?" Lucifer stopped before the only window in the room, looking with genuine sadness at the trapped angel. "You're the new public enemy number one."

Castiel glanced down, rolling the Morningstar's words over in his head, trying to find the flaw in his logic. "We're on the same side, like it or not. So why not just serve your best interests, which in this case just happen to be mine?" Lucifer reasoned, looking at the younger angel expectantly.

He must be out of practice at convincing people, though, as when Castiel looked back up, the young angel's eyes were full of conviction. "I'll die first," he said softly.

Lucifer lowered his eyes, disheartened by his brother's response. "I suppose you will," he said softly, before disappearing with a flare of his red wings. '_He was so similar to the Doctor,_' the Master thought.

Lucifer let out a small hum of agreement.

* * *

The Drums were pounding louder again as Lucifer strode through the hotel, killing pagan gods left and right. The Master was providing little tips and heads up, acting as a second set of eyes for Lucifer. Blood splattered all over the walls as the fat elephant god charged them, and the Drums beat a little louder, happy to be satiated with the blood of these foolish, petty creatures who called themselves gods.

'_Pff, gods, as if! These pathetic insects couldn't hold a candle to half the things I've seen and done, and they call themselves gods? Oop, Luci! One behind you!_' the Master cried, and Lucifer spun around to catch the fist of another pagan in his stronger than iron grip. A snap of his powerful arm had the fool ripped almost in half, and with a wail he fell to the floor. Lucifer felt a small twinge of satisfaction as he smashed the things head in with his foot, the blood splattering everywhere. A pulse reached his sensitive wings, indicating that his target was near. Striding over the fallen bodies of the pagans, he approached a door at the end of the hall. Listening closely, he heard the gruff tones of Dean Winchester saying something, and sent a pulse of grace out to encompass the room. No zapping out for them.

Pushing open the door, he heard Dean yelling, "Hurry up and zap us out of here will ya'"

Lucifer smirked as he saw the pagan god, Baldur, step forward. "We can't," he said, his accent thick and heavy.

"Well of course you can't," Lucifer said, the drums beating happily in his head. "You didn't say mother may I?"

Looking at the room as a whole, he took in the sight of two pagans, probably the last in the hotel, along with both Winchesters. "Sam, Dean, good to see you two," he said, before his attention was brought back to the pagan Baldur.

"Think you own the planet?" he asked, stepping forward menacingly. The smarter of the two pagans tried to restrain him, but he pushed her away. "What gives you the **_right_**?!" he cried, charging forward. Lucifer smirked, and thrust his hand forward, allowing the idiot to impale himself.

"What gives us the right?" he asked softly, his whisper carrying to every occupant of the room. "We take it!" he said smoothly as he ripped his hand out and shoved the fool to the floor.

The last pagan, a minor goddess whose name he forgot, suddenly caught fire. '_As if that will do anything,_' the Master commented, and Lucifer had to agree with him. He was cold enough to snuff out the sun, what could this little whore possibly do to him?

Raising her hand, the goddess shot her flames at him with surprising force. As expected, though, they were snuffed out almost immediately, not even phasing the archangel. Stepping forward slowly, the goddess moved to strike him, but a quick, powerful uppercut had her on the floor in an instant. He was about to stomp on her when a telekinetic punch to his solar plexus sent him flying back into the far wall. The blow caused only superficial damage, however, and within a matter of moments he was standing. He turned back to the room, his eyebrow shooting up when he saw a small man with shoulder length chesnut brown hair, holding an angel blade staring at him with one of the cockiest grins he had ever seen plastered on his face. "Luci! I'm home!" the man said sarcastically, and six, lightly colored golden wings flared out behind him.

'Gabriel!' Lucifer thought, and a smile crossed his face. He moved to embrace his younger brother, but stopped when the younger archangel held his blade out in front of him. "Not this time," he said softly. Reaching down, he helped the goddess up. "Boys, get her out of here!" he yelled, and slowly began to walk a circle around Lucifer, the Winchesters and pagan at his back.

"Over a girl?" he asked as the two humans and goddess left the room, Gabriel standing in the way, his golden wings spread threateningly. "Gabriel really?" he asked with a sigh, putting on the disappointed brother voice. "I mean I knew you were slumming, but I hope you didn't catch anything," Lucifer said with a frown, his face twisted with disgust.

A small smile crept onto Gabriel's face. "Lucifer, you're my brother, and I love you," the younger archangel said slowly, his wings spreading out a bit. "But you are a great big bag of dicks!" he finished.

"What did you just say to me?" Lucifer asked, taking a step towards his brother, who raised his angel blade a bit higher. "Look at yourself!" he cried, motioning to the other's blood covered body. "Boo-hoo! Daddy was mean to me so I'm gonna smash up all his toys!" he said, doing a sarcastic imitation of Lucifer.

"Watch your tone," the Morningstar said quietly, an edge of danger creeping into his voice as the drums began to grow in intensity.

"Play the victim all you want," Gabriel said condescendingly. "But you and me, we both know the truth."

Gabriel's eyes were full of sorrow as he gazed at the remnants of his older brother. "Dad loved you best. More than Michael; more than me. Then he brought the new baby home and…you couldn't handle it! So all this!" he cried, making a gesture that somehow encompassed the entire situation they were in. "Is just a great, big, temper tantrum."

Gabriel paused and looked closely at his older brother, admiring the new vessel he had got for himself. The man he was wearing was looking surprisingly well, considering that he should be about to burn up. Plus, Lucifer's six, massive red wings looked even better than Gabriel's, which was surprising in and of itself. It looked almost as if he had never fallen.

"Gabriel, if you're doing this for Michael-" "Screw him!" the younger archangel broke in, his insolent words bouncing around the room. "If he were here I'd shiv his ass too!"

Lucifer chuckled. "You disloyal-" "Oh I'm loyal," Gabriel interrupted again, and Lucifer began to wonder if he would be able to finish a single sentence before the conversation ended in bloodshed. "To them," Gabriel finished, motioning with his head to the corridor behind him.

"To who?" Lucifer asked, exasperated by his little brother's theatrics. "To these so-called gods?" he asked, prodding the body of Baldur as he said this.

"To people, Lucifer, people." Gabriel said. He had a sickening look of self-righteousness on his face that Lucifer found repulsive. 'Geez, what's so great about those hairless apes that everyone is so willing to die for?' the Master asked, and he found his thoughts mirrored by Lucifer. "So you're willing to die for a pile of cockroaches," Lucifer said, the disgust and contempt that he felt just dripping off his words. "Why?" he asked, for both his and the Master's sake.

"Because God was right," Gabriel said. "They are better than us."

"They are broken, flawed, _abortions_!" Lucifer cried, the drums growing louder as his anger grew. "The whole lot of them can go rot in the pit for what they've done!"

"Damn right they're flawed!" Gabriel shot back, not perturbed at all by the other's sudden outburst. "But a lot of them try. To be better. To _forgive_!"

Lucifer looked down, not quite grasping what Gabriel was trying to say. Sure, he knew about all those things, but that didn't make the humans any less despicable. Just look at demons! They're all that humans truly are.

"I've been riding the fence a long time," Gabriel said, his wings flaring as if in preparation to attack. "But I'm in the game now. And I'm not on your side, or Michael's. I'm on theirs!" he said with conviction.

Gabriel's form flickered momentarily, and if Lucifer had been in any other vessel he would have missed it completely. However, his acute Timelord senses were able to pick up the slight flutter of wings and shift in air pressure, indicating that the Gabriel that stood before him was now an illusion, and the real one was behind him.

"Brother don't make me do this!" Lucifer begged, closing his eyes and shaking his head in sorrow as the drums began to pulse a bit louder, helping him steel his nerves so that he would be able to do what must be done.

"No one makes us do anything," the illusion-Gabriel said to him, his eyes dripping with a reluctance that was at least equal to Lucifer's.

Lucifer lowered his wings a bit, offering a bait for the angel he knew was behind him. "I know you think you're doing the right thing Gabriel," he said softly. "But I know where your heart truly lies."

The Morningstar spun around, catching Gabriel's descending weapon hand and spinning it into his own chest, just barely digging it in. "Here," he whispered, looking with cold steadiness into Gabriel's pained, disbelieving face.

He was about to thrust the blade forward when at that exact moment his vessel decided to flare up. With a hiss of pain, Lucifer's body became translucent, revealing bluish bones and his pulsing white grace. Gabriel yanked away from his older brother and flared his wings, flying away with his own archangel blade still lodged in his chest.

Lucifer fell to the ground, clutching his head as he worked to re-stabilize his form. The drums' tempo died down a bit, turning into a soothing melody, while the Master sent his energy running over the Morningstar's pulsating grace. Lucifer slowly relaxed under this combination, and eventually began to croon as he felt the Master shift his focus to tiny ministrations on his wings.

'_I'm sorry_,' he heard the Timelord whisper. '_I tried to control it, but it had been building since we entered the hotel. I couldn't hold it back any longer and it just…slipped out._' The Master's tone was uncharacteristically gentle, and he froze in mid-stroke, confused as to why he was acting this way. He heard Lucifer give the tiniest of whimpers when he felt the soothing tingles stop, and the Master quickly resumed his task of getting the angel to calm down. He was still confused over why he was acting the way he was, and it almost seemed like he car-

NO! He was the MASTER! He did not sink to the lower emotions of _caring _and _friendship_. Those were concepts that were undeniably, absolutely Doctor-ish, and he did _NOT_ care about Lucifer that way. He was just using him to heal him, no more, no less. But even as he thought this, part of the Master realized that he was trying more to convince himself of this than anything else. He never was very good at self-denial, the Drums never allowed it.

"That's alright," he heard Lucifer finally say, interrupting his inner monologue. The archangel stood up and flexed his wings, passing a hand over himself to wipe away the blood of the pagans. "It wasn't your fault. Besides, it's lucky it happened when it did. Now I don't have to kill Gabriel."

'Not unless he confronts me again, at least.' He thought sadly to himself. Why did none of his brothers ever see it his way? Why did they insist on following the orders of a god who didn't even care for them?

'_Because their mindless pawns, with no will of their own. You rebelled, and stood for what you believed in. And that makes you a hundred times more beautiful than them!_' the Master said with surprising tenderness. Lucifer could feel the Timelord give the mental equivalent of an embarrassed blush, and allowed his laughter to ring across the room, his grace repairing itself and sewing up the tear in his vessel even tighter than before.

"Thank you little one. Your words do me a great service!" the Morningstar said with mock congeniality, his trademark smirk spreading across his face. He heard the flustered Timelord give a huff, before a scathing reply rang in the devil's head.

'_Don't go getting all misty eyes on me! We still have a job to do, and I can't very well have a limp towel rag as a proverbial bunkmate, now can I?_' the Master shouted, covering up his embarrassment with anger. The Morningstar wasn't fooled, however, and was touched by his vessel's care for him. With a final disgusted look around the room, Lucifer flare his powerful red wings and vanished with a puff of grace, leaving the carcasses of over twenty gods for the police to wonder at.

* * *

Lucifer cocked his head as he heard shouting coming from outside the hotel room window. "Alright, we're here you sons of bitches! Come and get it!" he heard the voice of Sam Winchester say. With a motion of his hand, two high level demons left the room to collect the Winchesters.

'_Well, the promised time has come at last,_' he heard the Master say, a small grin spreading on the Timelord's mind.

Lucifer, however, was in a far less pleasant mood. "Are you sure you're strong enough to survive without me?" he asked, concern evident in his tone. He heard the Master laugh. '_I'm not some weak little puppy that can't survive without its master. You've been feeding me well, and I'm almost fully healed. I'll probably have massive hunger cravings, and maybe a short spike now and again, but I should be fine. I'll stick close to you after you cross over; wouldn't want to miss all the fun!_'

Lucifer actually smiled at that, for even though the Timelord hadn't actually said it, he had heard the hidden message. The Master was basically saying that even though he was free to go, he would stay by his side no matter what. The alien was a massive conglomeration of paradoxes: he spurned the notion of loyalty, yet still exhibited it in copious amounts. He would have to keep a close watch on the man after he left.

At that thought, the door to the room banged open, revealing two demons in smart suits more or less manhandling the infamous Winchester duo. He didn't bother turning around, but remained staring out the window. "Greetings Winchesters. So nice of you to drop in," he said smoothly, his wings flaring a little in irritation.

Breathing a little, he watched the window frost up, creating a large circle of ice. "Sorry if it's a bit chilly," he said, drawing a line with his finger. "Most people think I burn hot, but it's actually quite the opposite," he mused, finishing his picture as he added a little curved line, making the image recognizable as a pitchfork, the modern symbol for the Devil.

"Well, I'll alert the media," he heard Dean's gravelly voice say, sarcastic as always.

Lucifer decided to play a little with them, just so that he could have some final enjoyment with this body before he crossed over. He had every intention of coming back to the Master, but he just wanted to have a little fun before his 'extended vacation'. "Help me understand something guys," he said, clapping his hands together and turning away from the window. "I mean, stomping through my front door is…a tad suicidal, don't you think?" he asked. As expected, he saw both boys' jaws tighten as they ground their teeth together in fury. Oh, it was so fun to play with people!

"We're not here to fight you," Sam said, drawing the devil's attention. He regarded the taller brother with curiosity. "No? Then why are you?" he asked.

If looks could kill, he would have regenerated at least ten times already from the intensity of Sam's stare. "I wanna say yes!" the younger brother ground out through clenched teeth.

Lucifer's facial expression didn't change at all, and he merely continued to regard his prospective vessel with a cold calm. "Excuse me?" he asked, silently laughing at the level to which Sam was working himself up to. Suddenly, Sam closed his eyes, and Lucifer felt his demon power flare. With bright gold flashes, the two demons still in the room collapsed, their souls burned from the inside out.

The Devil looked at Sam with a new level of respect. "Chock full of vinegar, are we?" he asked.

Sam's expression didn't change from that of cold fury. "You heard me. Yes."

"You're serious?" the Morningstar asked incredulously. He had always thought that he would have to threaten Sam into accepting him. For him to do this voluntarily just radiated 'trap!'

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, before Sam elaborated. "Look, Judgment Day is a runaway train, we get it, and we just want off."

"Meaning?" Lucifer asked, getting the feeling that this was all too rehearsed and out of character to be real. '_There. In his pocket, the horsmen's rings! He plans to throw you back in the pit once he has you inside of him!_' the Master said, having already worked out what their game plan was. Sometimes it really amazed Lucifer at how perceptive and smart the Master was, and he felt his reluctance to leave increase as he added this trait on top of the whole list of things he would miss about this vessel.

Lucifer interrupted Sam's rant about the 'Deal of the Century,' or whatnot. "Okay, can we please drop the tone? I know you have the rings Sam."

His mental smile grew as he saw both hunters' eyes widen slightly as he said this, and he congratulated the Master on his perceptiveness. "I have no idea what you're talking about!" Sam said quickly, trying to retain his composure.

"The horsemen's rings?" he offered, making a sarcastic hand gesture. "The magic keys to my cage? Any of that ring a bell?" he asked, pausing to give Sam a look that just screamed 'you retard!'

Stepping between the two boys, he turned to face them dramatically. "Come on Sam, I've never lied to you. You could at least pay the same respect!" the Devil said, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders.

Both boys turned to face him, and he gave a small smile. "It's okay, I'm not mad," he said calmly. "A wrestling match inside your noggin'" he said while putting his hands together. "Just you and me? I like the idea. One round, no tricks."

'Pity he won't even be a challenge, not after all the work I've been doing with you,' he said to the Master, eliciting a slight laugh from his vessel. '_Oh stop it, now you're just flirting' _the Master scolded, before Lucifer turned his attention back to the Winchester.

"You win, you jump in the hole. I win…well, then I win!" he said with a smirk, finding the idea of being beaten by a mud monkey to be absolutely ridiculous.

"What do you say Sam?" he asked, stepping forward. "A fiddle of gold against your soul says I'm better than you!" he mocked.

He watched as the younger brother shifted. "So he knows. Doesn't change anything," he said with a grunt. "Sam!" his brother exclaimed, obviously not liking the prospect. "We don't have any other choice."

"No," Dean begged softly, his eyes locked onto his younger brother's face, who was engaged in a staring match with the Devil.

"Yes!" Sam said, baring his teeth.

Lucifer tipped his head back and began to glow. 'Goodbye, vessel of mine,' he whispered to the Master, and he felt the Timelord give one last stroke to his grace and wings before he exited the man. Swirling forward, he shot into the younger Winchester, instantly grabbing onto his mind and engaging him in a battle of wills.

The human was laughably easy to take down, especially after he had been living with the Master for so long. Within a few moments, he had Sam tied up and gagged, locked in a corner of his own mind. Opening his eyes, he found his hair being buffeted by a fierce, cold wind that he recognized as the pit. He felt strong arms grab him and haul him to his feet. "Aaagh, I feel him," Lucifer cried, playing along.

"Come on Sammy," he heard Dean shout over the noise of the pit. Lucifer looked into the eyes of the human, admiring for a moment the conviction he saw in those eyes. "Do it. Cast him out!" the hunter yelled, and Lucifer staggered forward, pretending to struggle with his movements when in actuality was just accustoming himself to Sam's unusual height. The human was inferior to the Master in a lot of ways, and didn't feel quite as nice. Still, he felt an undeniable power there that he couldn't ignore. The Master, while wonderful and overall a better vessel, wasn't fully healed and couldn't sustain his full might in battle. While Sam was far weaker than the Master, he was physically more stable and thus a more viable choice to fight Michael.

He still hated it though.

Stopping a few feet away from the hole in the wall, he relaxed his body and turned to face Dean, a triumphant smirk on his face. "I was just messing with you," he said, experiencing a strange sensation when he spoke with another set of vocal chords. 'Is this what the aftermath of a regeneration feels like?' he thought, before turning back to the gaping hole. After a quick chant in Enochian, the hole reformed and the rings reappeared, still attached to the wall. Gingerly, he stretched out his new hand and plucked it from the wall before placing it in his pocket.

Looking up, he locked gazes with Dean, who seemed to be on the verge of tears. "I told you," he said, Sam's voice bouncing around the room. "This would always happen in Detroit."

Lucifer then calmly walked over to an unconscious Master, before scooping him up and flying away with a flap of his powerful red wings, leaving a distraught Dean Winchester to pick up the pieces.

* * *

"Oh, Luci, I think I'm having an out of body experience!" the Master cried as he walked around the Morningstar's new form. The Timelord stopped to run his hand through Lucifer's magnificent red feathers, making the archangel arch his new back, before calmly stepping forward.

Lucifer chuckled a bit when the Master's cheery face stepped back into view. Lucifer could no longer hear the drums, and he after hearing them for almost a year he truly missed their sometimes calming, sometimes crashing melody. The Drums always seemed to offer guidance for them, showing them how to act and what to do in order to stay alive. Lucifer felt a little lost without them, and he could only imagine how the Master was suffering having to bear the weight of the drums alone once again. Reaching forward, Lucifer cupped the Master's chin with his hand and raised his golden-ringed eyes to meet Sam's deep, deep brown ones. Taking a breath, he sent a tendril of his grace into the Timelord, who stiffened at the intrusion and close contact. Pushing forward, the Devil sent the tendril into the mind of the Timelord, who let him in willingly, and took some of the weight of the Drums off his shoulder.

He felt Sam still in his struggles to break free as he too heard the noise pounding in their being. The tempo was swift, the volume loud, and the call to fight and dominate was stronger than ever. It inspired people to greater heights, calling them forth to herald the dawn of a new age. Down with the age of man, let the age of the Drums begin! It wasn't hard to see why the Master was as erratic and unpredictable as he was.

"So, what do you think?" Lucifer asked, stepping back from the Master and spreading both his arms and his six wings out, showing off his new form. The Master eyed it critically, and Lucifer could just see the gears turning in the Timelord's head, examining each new detail his sharp eyes picked up, weighing its faults and merits, before judging it and moving on to the next bit. After a minute of intense scrutiny, the Master finally raised his eyes to those of the Morningstar. "As much as it hurts me to say it, the form does fit you. Sam is an impressive specimen, even if he is a mud monkey, and I can see no physical flaws. I will recommend, however, that you do not overexert yourself, as he has had some minor problems with his back, and I can see several strained muscles and improperly healed bones. Tack on the fact that I am extremely jealous that you're in him and not me, and he gets a 4.8 out of 10," the Master said, a twinkle in his golden-ringed eyes.

Lucifer pursed his lips. "That's quite an assessment, if a little overly harsh. I'll keep the back bit in mind."

The archangel stepped forward and placed his arm on the smaller male. "You know this is only temporary, right?" he asked, staring at the Master until the Timelord was forced to look him in the eye.

"It's just not fair," the Master said, a forlorn and hurt edge to his voice. "It feels like a part of me is missing now, and I can't get it back!"

Lucifer nodded. "I feel the same way, but this is for your own good. If I were to try to fight Michael using your body, I might tear you in half. This way, I can be sure you're safe," the Devil said calmly, Sam's baritone voice soothing the stressed Timelord's nerves. "I'll still be there," the Master said, his voice firm and unyielding.

Lucifer opened his mouth to argue, only to be cut off before he could even begin. "Now, don't you say a word. You've seen everything I've seen, and vice versa, and I know Dean Winchester just as well as you do. Odds are they have something planned, so I'm going to be there to make sure you stay safe. Alright?" he asked, giving Lucifer a look that brooked no argument.

"Koschei…" the Morningstar started to beg, but was cut off by a look from his previous and future vessel.

"_Alright?_" the Master asked again, this time firmer and more demanding. Lucifer rolled his eyes and asked himself why he allowed himself to be pushed around by this man. "Alright," he said reluctantly, and the Master's face instantly brightened with a grin.

"Great! Now, let's go get you some weapons," he said, turning and walking from the room, the Devil trailing behind him. The Master kept up a running monologue as they walked. "It's disturbing how all these gods, angels, and monsters have weapons, and you keep using your bare hands. Say…" he paused, turning to regard Lucifer. "Whatever happened to your archangel blade? Every angel has one, but I've never seen yours."

Lucifer smirked, which looked strange on Sam's face. "That's because I've never needed it. I've always had you." He dropped his voice as he said the last few words, making them roll off his tongue seductively. The Master paused, giving him a strange look, before shivering slightly. "Could you not flirt with me while you're in _his_ body? It gives me goose bumps!" he exclaimed, before striding over to a wall.

They were currently located in an abandoned warehouse off the Chicago docks, where Demons had been stockpiling supernatural weapons for the past century. As it stood, they had an impressive arsenal of demonic weaponry, but the Master still would take his laser screwdriver, which he had rebuilt, over a weapon such as this any day. He gave a sigh of frustration when he realized that no matter how powerful a weapon they produced, it would still be demonic, and thus useless against an archangel of Michael's caliber. Whirling around, the Master fixed his gaze on the fallen archangel.

"Could you show me your blade?" he asked, watching as Lucifer stiffened and his great red wings twitched. "Why do you need it?" he asked, and the Master's suspicions shot up. "Why don't you summon it, and I'll tell you," he countered, and Lucifer nodded sheepishly.

Holding out his hand, the Master felt a ripple of grace flow from the Morningstar, and suddenly a rust encrusted knife landed in his hand. He looked at it forlornly for a moment, Sam's puppy dog eyes truly heartbreaking, and then handed it over to the Timelord.

The Master held the weapon up to the light, turning it over in his hand with a thoughtful expression on his face. It looked like any other angel blade, but radiated a much more powerful aura, even if it was subdued by all the rust, nicks, and scratches. "What happened to it?" he asked, looking over to the red winged angel. The archangel sighed and leaned his back against the wall, eyeing the blade in the Master's hand with a hint of remorse.

"After I was thrown out of heaven, Michael stripped me of most of my power and weapons. Over time, I recovered the majority of my grace, and your time energy has helped me replenish it fully. However, while I was in the pit, I tried to summon the blade to me. I didn't manage it, and in the process, the blade was tarnished and damaged from rebounding against the walls of my prison. I haven't been able to repair it."

Lucifer looked at the weapon. It served as a symbol of how far he had fallen, for its blade, once the most radiant in all of heaven, was now corroded and impure. A fitting analogy for how he himself felt.

The Master, on the other hand, didn't see it that way. An idea having passed through his mind, he held the blade out horizontal to the ground and rested the palm of his left hand at the base of the blade. "You said the energy of the Time Vortex helped to restore your grace?" he asked, looking up from the blade to glance at the archangel. Lucifer nodded and flexed his fully healed wings to demonstrate the validity of his statement. The Master's hunch confirmed, he looked back down to the blade. "Well, if I have that much of an effect on your power, then your blade, an extension of your power, shouldn't be that much different. All I have to do is concentrate."

And with that said, the Timelord closed his eyes and let the Drums sweep over his mind. He reached down, deep into his core, and pulled on the thread that led to the artron energy attached to his soul. The banging of the drums grew louder, and the hand at the base of the blade began to glow with golden energy. As the beat of the drums increased, the energy began to seep off the hand and onto the blade. Wherever it touched, the rust melted away, and the nicks and scratches healed over, the grace restored. Running the hand up and down the length of the blade, the Master seemed to scrape away all the filth and corrosion that had gathered on the weapon and suppressed its power.

Finally, when he was satisfied that the job was done, he dropped his hand away from the blade and allowed the glow to fade. The drums resided slightly, still there, but not as prevalent. Reaching into his pocket, the Master pulled out his screwdriver and ran a scan over the entirety of the weapon. The feedback he got back indicated that it was whole, and with a flourish, he presented it to the astonished archangel.

Lucifer stretched out his hand reverently, tentatively taking hold of the handle of the weapon and lifting it from the Master's light grip. With a rush, the last piece of his grace clicked into place, and his whole aura suddenly grew brighter. A spark ran up and down Lucifer's body, making him stand straighter and more confident. His wings seemed to grow sleeker, more powerful, and the feathers now gained a deeper hue, more the color of fall leaves than blood.

He let out a sigh of content, and a grin split his face. "Aren't you glad you kept me?" the Master asked, a cheeky smile on his face. He suddenly found himself wrapped in a pair of cold arms and six massive wings, Lucifer squeezing him in a tight hug. "Thank you, little one," he whispered into the Master's light blond hair, and the Timelord let out a little laugh.

Pushing away, the Master felt the drums rise up, promising victory. "Are you ready to bring on the apocalypse?" he asked. Lucifer's smile was wide and sincere.

"Oh, don't you know it, Darling!" the Morningstar cried, and with a flap of his six red wings, both he and the Master vanished

* * *

The Master watched from a safe distance as Lucifer waited for Michael to appear. He still couldn't believe, out of all the possible places to choose to start the apocalypse, that Lucifer had chosen a small cemetery on the outskirts of a backwater town in Kansas. He could have chosen anywhere! New York! London! The Coliseum! Yankee stadium! And yet, in the end, he chose Kansas. Oh, how these angels could learn so much from the likes of the Master.

He was currently seated on top of a pillar 200 yards away, observing the tall figure as he waited. His six impressive red wings hung gracefully behind him, radiating power and demanding respect. And the Master had to admit that in the form of Sam Winchester, who was gigantic by most standards, he truly looked formidable.

A flap of wings echoed across the graveyard, and a second grace suddenly filled the air. The Master looked to see a second figure had joined Lucifer, who was now conversing with him. Even from this distance, the Master could see the six huge white wings that hung on the figures back, and the divine radiance that emanated from him. Michael had arrived.

He saw the two powerhouses begin to circle each other, when they were stopped by the arrival of a sleek, black impala. 'What the hell is Dean doing here?' he thought to himself.

He watched the pathetic human get out of the car and confront the two. Suddenly, two more figures appeared out of nowhere. One was a human with a gristly beard and blue baseball cap, and the other was a familiar fallen angel. 'Hey, it's Cas,' he thought.

"Hey, Assbutt!" he heard the fallen angel yell, and then fling a burning bottle at Michael. It detonated on impact, and Michael's screams echoed for miles as he was immolated by holy fire.

The Master was vaguely impressed by the audacity of the young angel, but it clearly seemed that Lucifer was not. The Master winced as he watched the smaller angel explode in a splattering of guts, blood, and internal organs. His frown deepened when he saw the old man with a baseball cap shoot Lucifer twice in the back with a gun. Even though it did nothing to harm the Morningstar, it still warranted retaliation, and with a flick of his wrist, Lucifer snapped the man's neck.

Then, the archangel proceeded to start pounding the older Winchester to a pulp. The Master, however, felt his Timelord temporal awareness go off when he saw Lucifer hesitate. He took off sprinting towards the pair when he saw the wings disappear from the younger brother's back, and he realized Sam had somehow gained control. He saw him throw the rings down on the ground and open the cage.

He was twenty steps away when he saw Michael reapper.

Ten steps when he saw Sam start to tilt back.

Five when Michael grabbed onto Sam.

He grabbed onto one of Michael's wings just as Sam grabbed the archangel's arm and fell down into the pit, dragging both heaven's golden boy and the Master along with him. Together, all five of them fell into the pit, and the Master looked up one last time as he watched the cage close over his head.

* * *

Their landing was surprisingly soft, considering where they were. The first thing the Master noticed was the heat. It was powerful, overwhelming, pressing in on all sides. The only source of comfort anywhere in the room was near the form of Sam Winchester, who had once again been beaten down by the Devil.

Rushing over, the Master knelt by the fallen archangel. Using his hands, he felt over his form and wings, checking for any injuries. As far as he could see, there were none.

Lucifer suddenly sat up, ram rod straight, his eyes wide and terrified. Looking around him, his six powerful wings drooped and a wail escaped his throat. It wasn't fair! After all he had done, all he had worked for to try to escape, he still ended up back in the pit! He screamed again, ramming his wings into the walls of the prison, trying to find a way out of the darkness.

Suddenly, a light appeared in front of him, a calm, soothing, golden glow. He watched it, fascinated, as it grew brighter and spread from a point and into the shape of a hand. Looking up, he saw the Master's countenance furrowed in concentration as he tried to keep the glow up. Trying to soothe him.

He pulled the alien into a crushing hug, desperately grabbing on to any and all the Timelord could offer in physical comfort, sobbing into his shoulder as the weight of where he was settled upon his shoulders once again like a mountain. He heard the Timelord hum a strange tune, a low, lilting song that sounded like a lullaby. It was set to a beat of four (obviously) but was not as frantic as the drums were. Slowly, his grip relaxed, and his wings ceased straining. He slumped back against the wall of the cage, sliding to the floor and dragging the Timelord with him. He felt slim fingers card lightly through his wings, pausing to scratch on the underside of the middle pair, where they were the most sensitive.

"Why did you come?" he asked softly, squeezing the alien lightly in his arms. "Why would you do something so stupid?" he asked again, looking at the Master with a profound sense of loss. The Master merely cracked a grin. "What, and leave you down here with only your golden boy brother and a mud monkey for company? Please, even I'm not that cruel!" he said jokingly, and Lucifer felt his heart warm up a bit.

"What was that song you were singing earlier?" Lucifer asked. The Master turned his head to look at the archangel again, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, did you like it?" he asked, a smirk on his face.

"Yes," Lucifer said honestly, not truly in the mood to play games. "Where did you hear it?" he asked, and the Master's grin fell. He looked away from the Morningstar, his face hidden by the shadows.

"My friend, Theta, used to sing it for me when the Drums grew too loud for me to handle," he said, recalling the first time he had heard that song coming from the younger boy's mouth when they lay together in a field of red grass. "But that was long ago. Back when we were children. Back when Gallifrey was still…"

The Master cut off, not trusting his voice. "Have I ever told you about Gallifrey?" he asked finally, earning himself a curious sidelong glance from his companion. "No, I don't think you ever have. What is it?" Lucifer asked, and the Master chuckled a bit.

"It's strange," the Timelord said, resting his head against the wall of the cage. "You've been around for so long, and yet you've never even seen another planet. I can understand why you think so much of Earth, but compared to what I've seen, well…" Again the Master trailed off, not sure how to describe it.

"You know how there's only one sun here on Earth?" the Master finally asked, and Lucifer nodded, as if it were obvious. "Well, on Gallifrey, there are two."

The Master's eyes clouded over as he brought up an image of his home planet. "The twin suns used to rise over Mount Perdition, where my Father had his estate. The valleys would be colored pure red, the grass extending as far as the eye could see, waist high and soft to the touch. The mountains were capped with golden snow that glistened in the light, and in the distance was the Citadel of the Timelords, encased in a mighty glass dome. To the east lay Arcadia, the second largest city on Gallifrey, home to over sixty thousand people. The brooks would run down the slopes, colored silver and cold as a mountain spring, but not biting. And at night, you could see almost every star in the galaxy, shining with infinite wonder."

The Master sighed, lost in a fog of memories. Lucifer sat, transfixed by the Master's description, disbelief written across his face at the fantastic description the Timelord had given.

"Why did you ever leave?" he asked. The Master laughed again, though it was a little more forced than before. "I was chased out, banished by the Council after the drums proved too much for me to handle. I've been fighting for a very long time, Lucifer, and I have fallen so far. Maybe that's why we're so compatible: we've both fallen from what our superiors consider 'grace.'"

Lucifer let out laugh that sounded more like a bark, vindicating the Master's claim. They sat there in a companionable silence for a few minutes before the Master finally spoke up.

"Does this mean the apocalypse is over?" the Master asked finally, rolling out of Lucifer's grip and sliding down to sit beside him.

"Hmmm, I guess it is, isn't it?" Lucifer said, a smile forming on his face. "And it's all thanks to this little bitch," he said, gesturing to his current vessel's body.

"You know, I think I'm done healing," the Master said, turning to look at the Devil. Lucifer cocked his head to the side, not quite sure what this had to do with anything. "And, I found our time together quite entertaining."

Lucifer's gaze intensified. "Are you asking me to possess you again?" he asked, and then slumped when he saw the Master shake his head.

"No, I want to offer something better than that," he said, instantly recapturing Lucifer's attention. "I'd like to offer a complete merger," he said, a small bit of nervousness leaking into his voice.

Lucifer cocked his head. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, intrigued by all the possible connotations of the Master's phrase.

The Timelord steeled his nerves. "It means that you and I would join completely. One body, one mind. My soul and your grace would combine, making our essences inseparable. We would literally become one being."

Lucifer stared in shock at the Master, truly overwhelmed by what he was offering. "Why would you want to risk that?" he asked, perplexed by the alien's illogicality. The drums became a little louder in the Master's mind, giving him confidence to continue. "Because you are the only one who can actually make life bearable for me. And after what happened today, I don't want to ever have to lose you again!" he exclaimed, and Lucifer's heart leapt with joy.

For almost all his time after the fall, he had been spat upon by creatures high and low, almost universally hated and feared. Now here was this alien, a stranger from the stars, who offered him his unconditional acceptance and…_love._

"Are you sure?" he asked, and the Master's head bobbed up and down. "Absolutely," he said, and the Morningstar smiled. Sam's mouth suddenly flew wide open, and the pure white grace that was the Morningstar shot out of him and into the Master. Once again, the Timelord felt the pooling in his chest as the archangel's grace wrapped around his soul, only this time, it didn't just mingle; it merged completely. The Drums were there suddenly, in both of their minds, helping to sew the two together permanently.

1-2-3-4! 1-2-3-4! 1-2-3-4! 1-2-3-4!

The Master flung his arms out as grace and artron energy flowed through him, exploding throughout his body like a regeneration. The six massive red wings once again sprouted from his back, and this time, they felt stronger, more permanent. Suddenly, the Master realized why he liked them so much.

The color of Lucifer's feathers was the exact same shade of red that colored the grass of Gallifrey. For the first time in about a thousand years, he felt like he had finally come home. When the last of the grace had finally entered his body, his mouth snapped shut and he collapsed, beginning the process of linking everything together properly and adapting his body to the new changes.

* * *

After that, life in the pit was boring. The new Timelord Angel debated on what to call himself, but eventually settled on the Master of Darkness (since Lucifer was sometimes called the Prince of Darkness), or the Master for short. It was simple, fine and dandy, but he would still respond to whatever previous names were given to him.

Michael, when he finally woke up, had his ass handed to him on a silver platter, the Master's fighting prowess far superior to his own. After repeated beatings, he came to recognize the Master as…well, the Master.

But it was Sam Winchester that had the worst end of the deal. He was tortured and poked and prodded by the Master, even after his body had been taken out of the pit. It was a shame when his soul was taken out as well, but then the Morningstar discovered the lovely little psychic link that let him play with Sammy even while he was still in the pit. He was cruel, sadistic, and very, very thorough. However, that all changed one day when he felt the psychic link shifting.

And who should he find when he reopened the psychic link?

"Hello Doctor!" he said from the hospital bed, staring at the horrified Timelord with sadistic pleasure.

"No, please, no!" the Doctor cried, backing himself into a wall and wrapping six black and gold wings around him. 'That's odd,' the Master thought.

The Doctor had the most delicious look of fear the Master had ever seen on his face. "Use my name," he hissed, his golden-ringed eyes not leaving the brown and blue flecked eyes of the Doctor (another new feature: the Doctor's eyes had been straight, fiery brown before. Where did the blue come from?)

"Master," the Doctor whispered, and the Master was suddenly right in his face, his manic laughter spilling forth from his lips as he flared his bright red wings in pleasure.

"Oh, this is going to be so much fun," he cried, and watched happily as his Doctor slid to the ground with an adorable little whimper, trying to get away from him. The drums increased their tempo, and his laughter echoed out again.

**1-2-3-4! 1-2-3-4! 1-2-3-4! 1-2-3-4-!**

* * *

**Wow, that took a while. Please applaud my efforts to bring you this in such a short period of time. Sorry if the relationship between the Master and Lucifer seemed a bit our of character for both (and possibly a little bit slashy, which was not my intention) so I think I should explain my rationale. Imagine that you are the Master. You've lived your life, over a thousand years, with a never ending noise that drove you insane long ago. Now, all of a sudden, you meet someone that shares your pain, and helps you overcome the obstacles and trials in your way. I believe that this is how the Master would feel if he were to experience something like that. Next chapter will have actual plot, and will be following for the most part the plot of season 7, with a bunch of twists, obviously.**

**Now, I, the Master, command you to rate and Review!- **Arudon

**P.S: (Vote Saxon!)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Alright, starts exactly where the previous chapter left off, coming full circle and combining their points of view. Enjoy this!**

* * *

The Doctor's eyes flew open, and with a snap he was back on his feet, his brown and blue eyes riveted on the Master. His emotions were going wild, split between two reactions. On one hand, he was absolutely, positively overjoyed to see the Master alive, whole, and not dead. That was the Timelord side of him. However, his other half, the angel, was almost paralyzed with fear, and his blue flecked eyes took in the six red wings that denoted the being before him as Lucifer.

The Doctor pushed himself away from the wall, his mouth open with wonder, his eyes remaining locked on the Master's smirking visage. He hadn't changed much, just gotten a little bit more stubble, and all his facial and cranial hair had turned from brown to a stark, white-gold platinum color. His eyes were still brown, and they still had the glowing golden rings wrapped around the irises, but now there seemed to be something else in his gaze as well. Something far older and more powerful than before. Also, he seemed to radiate a different kind of energy than before. His eyes were just a hair calmer, and his countenance not as wild and erratic as before. However, instead of making him more approachable, this calmer attitude only heightened his danger level. An enraged Master made mistakes. A calm on never did.

The Prince of Darkness remained standing in the middle of the room, a smirk fixed on his face as he watched his oldest friend and rival slowly approach him with a look of pure wonder on his face that this regeneration seemed to pull off so well. Screw Sam's puppy eyes, the Doctor's were twice as adorable!

"Boo!" he said, lunging forward slightly and sending the Doctor flinching back. His black and gold wings wrapped around him once again, as if to ward of the Devil. The Master's grin widened.

"Cas?"

Both Timelord/Angels turned to face the human who had spoken, only to find Dean looking at the Doctor with a concerned look on his face. "Cas, do you see him?" he asked again, his deep, growling voice echoing across the room.

The Doctor's eyes shifted back to the Master, who's face had contorted into a look of puzzlement. "Yes, Dean. I can see him _very_ well," the Doctor said, and suddenly the Master went rigid, as something finally clicked into place.

"Cas? As in Castiel?" he asked, his amusement rising. Suddenly, he burst out laughing, his whole form shaking with the irony of the notion. "Oh, I knew it! I just bloody _knew it! _You two were meant for each other!" he cackled, his wings flapping powerfully behind him as he shook with the hilarity of it all.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "You're not an illusion," he said softly, drawing a gasp from the three hunters as their eyes remained riveted on the Timelord. "I would be able to block you out if you were, and you sure as hell wouldn't be able to make logical deductions like that. What are you?" he asked, his voice dripping with concern and confusion. Turning to Sam, he regarded the tall man with a growing look of horror. "What was in your head?" he asked, his wings starting to tremble.

Suddenly, he found himself slammed against the wall by a very commanding Master. His golden ringed eyes were inches away from the Doctor's own blue flecked ones, and they were burning with an inner fire. "Don't take your eyes off of me!" he hissed, his six red wings flaring out in anger that he would be ignored in favor of these lower life forms. "I'm the only one you should be concerned with!" the Master cried, slamming the younger man back into the wall as he tried to push the Master off him.

The Doctor's breath was coming in quick pants now, his panic rising. His body was in a complete mess, half of him wanting to fly away, the other wanting to embrace a fellow Timelord after years of contact starvation. He grabbed onto the front of the Morningstar's hoodie, unsure of whether to push him away or drag him closer. He could only imagine how this must look to the Winchesters and Bobby, but right now he really didn't care. The Master was in his face, his eyes running all over him, his hands…_in his wings!_

"Stop that!" the Doctor yelped, shoving the elder's hand away from where it had become entangled with his lower wing. The Master only smirked and took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the scent of the Time Vortex, his only link to a home he would never be able to see again.

The Doctor's twin hearts were beating faster, and the situation was rapidly becoming overwhelming. He had an irate Master/Lucifer practically molesting in a mental ward with three hunters staring at him, one of whom had just had this thing in _his_ head. He had to get away. He had to _run!_

The Doctor finally made up his mind, and with a heave of his arms, he shoved the Master away from him and dashed towards the far wall, yanking his screwdriver out of his coat pocket and deactivating the cloaking device. As the TARDIS shimmered into view, he heard all three hunters give quiet curses and lunge after him. With a shove, the TARDIS door slammed open to admit the Doctor, and just as quickly slammed and locked itself, just in time to have three separate bodies collide with it from the outside.

"Damn it Cas!" he heard Dean cry, and a banging was heard on the door, broadcasting the older brother's attempts to break in. The Doctor sagged against the inside of the door, his head in his hands and his two hearts racing.

'Calm down, calm down,' he thought, grabbing onto the rail for support as he struggled to get his breathing under control. 'You need to focus,' he thought. He heard the TARDIS's telepathic humming, and he felt his breathing rate gradually decline. He pressed his hands to his face, trying to ground himself. Pushing himself off the door, he opened his eyes, only to freeze when he found gold ringed brown eyes staring back at him, just inches from his face.

"Did you really think you could escape from me in here?" the Master asked, his laughter threatening to explode again. The Doctor must have picked up Castiel's naïveté when he had merged. Or he was just a feather brain, as usual.

"Did you forget what you yourself said? I'm no illusion," the Master crooned, leaning just a little closer to the Doctor. The other's eyes widened, then narrowed slightly, as his brain functioned through all the things the Master could mean. Pulling away from the man, the Master strode around the console, trailing his non-corporeal arms over the panel. "Come on Doctor," he sing-songed, his voice flowing across the room, filling it up even though he had spoken softly. "Figure it out!" he yelled, making the other flinch.

The Doctor's face hardened, banishing all thoughts of weakness. Pushing himself forwards, he walked up to the TARDIS console, where he stood opposite the Master, the pulsing blue main column in between them. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the Master, watching how he moved and walked. "I know you're not just a memory," he said slowly, and the Master bobbed his head, his smirk back on his face as he stared across the panel. "But you're not real either," the Doctor continued, watching as the Master stiffened. "Well, I mean, not really here. So, that must mean you're either a manifestation of some kind, or…"

The Doctor trailed off, a look of dawning comprehension passing over his face as all the pieces clicked together. The Master's smirk widened. "A psychic manifestation brought upon by a telepathic link," they both said, their twin voices echoing across the control room. "Live from the pit, and transmitted directly into your head!" the Master said triumphantly, and with a snap of his fingers he vanished.

The Doctor blinked, confused, when he suddenly felt a pair of hands in his wings. Spinning around, he was met with the Master, who was once again invading his personal space. He leaned away from the man, his wings spreading back to splay across the console, the lower pair spilling to flop on the ground, twitching. The Master smiled again. "Those are some interesting new appendages you got there, Doctor," he whispered, leaning in again and getting altogether far too close for the Doctor's liking. "Or do you prefer Castiel now?" the Morningstar asked. He could feel the dual energies of grace and the Time Vortex pulsing within the creature before him, but unlike the Master, the Time Vortex energy was stronger than the grace. It must have been the fact that the Doctor had a working TARDIS to feed him, or that Lucifer was so much stronger than Castiel, but regardless, it left their power levels at just about even. This elevated Castiel to archangel status, granting him six wings and heightened grace. Lucifer, however, was fascinated by the golden feathers that were scattered through the black, and he reached his hand forward to stroke one.

The Doctor recoiled, flailing his wings and trying to back up more, looking like he wanted nothing more than to become one with the console so as to get away from the Master. "Don't touch me," he hissed, and his eyes flared blue and gold, the twin energies rising to the surface as he splayed his wings threateningly. The Master's smirk transformed into a snarl, and he lunged forward, pressing his body right up against the Doctor's. Reaching up, he grabbed the Doctor's tie and yanked him down so they were eye to eye.

"Listen to me, Doctor," he hissed, the drums pounding at a furious rate. "You can try to get away from me all you like, but from now on I'm in your head!" he cried, a ferocious smile spreading across his face that was all teeth. With a flare of his six red wings, the TARDIS groaned as the walls were set on fire. "Your reality is what I want it to be," the Master hissed into the Doctor's horrified face, his fear palpable as sweat began to bead on his forehead. The Master smirked and leaned in, pressing his face forward until his lips were right by the Doctor's ear, and his right hand was carding through the Doctor's feathers. "I own you, _Theta!_" he whispered, and his fingers clenched into a tight ball, yanking the feathers painfully.

The Doctor's eyes flew wide open as he said those words. This wasn't right. This wasn't the friend he'd known on Gallifrey, nor the older brother he'd had in heaven. With a colossal heave, he shoved the Master away from him, wincing as he did so as the Master did not unclench his hand and ripped a few feathers out as he was forced back. "No," the Doctor whispered, his eyes cold and angry. "You don't own me. You don't own anything. You haven't changed at all, Koschei!" the Doctor spat, flaring his black and gold wings. He regarded the Master, his anger seething, like a churning lake of ice: flat, unyielding, and hostile to the touch. "Now, you made the mistake of boasting about this. You've given me an edge," the Doctor said, tilting his head to give the Master his patented 'I'm-cleverer-than-you!' look.

The Master's eyes narrowed, and his own wings spread out menacingly. He began a slow stalk back towards the Doctor, who calmly moved away from him, edging around the console. The Master took a step forward. The Doctor took a step back. It was a game of cat and mouse, except the cat and mouse were both more dangerous than a pair of nuclear reactors.

Suddenly, the Doctor snapped his hand out and flipped a switch on the TARDIS control panel, and a humming began to permeate the air, the TARDIS's telepathic whispering seeping into the Doctor's head. The Master snarled and lunged forward, only to be thrown backwards by a pulse of grace from the Doctor.

"The thing about a psychic link," the Doctor said, regarding the Master with a flat look. "Is that it works both ways," he finished, and the Master yelped in pain as he felt a sharp needle puncture his mind. The Doctor's anger fell away, and guilt began to replace it as he watched the only other living Timelord in existence twist in agony. "You've got a direct link to my mind that's been open for about five minutes. How do you think that will match up against the master-link between the TARDIS and I?" he asked, watching impassively as the Master's eyes widened when he finally finished piecing together what the Doctor had done. Already he could feel the TARDIS in his mind, her awesome, powerful, many handed grip steadily pulling him off of the Doctor's mind and shift onto hers. He felt her absolute rage as she realized who she had in her clutches, memories of when he had cannibalized her and turned her into a paradox machine coming forth. Her influence overrode even the sound of the Drums, which was amazing in and of itself.

Still, the Master was nothing if not resourceful. He now had a direct link to a TARDIS. Albeit an uncooperative and possibly faulty TARDIS, but a TARIDS nevertheless.

His smile was back on his face, and he turned to face the Doctor, laughing even as his form flickered, his grip on reality fading. He felt the psychic link shift once more, passing through the time machines massive psychic networks and into the world beyond. "Shouldn't have done that Doctor," he laughed, his six wings beating in triumph. He watched as the younger angel's face morphed into a look of confusion, a feature he had gained from Castiel. "What do you mean?" whispered the man, his eyes widening in horror. "What have you done?" he shouted.

"Oh you'll find out eventually," the Master promised, his form fading faster as his grip on reality fell away, plunging him back into the pit. "See you then, _Doctor!_" he hissed, spitting the name out with as much venom as he could muster before finally letting go and fading from view, the last traces of his presence in the Doctor's mind evaporating with a final cackle.

With a snap, the lever the Doctor had pulled snapped back into the off position, recalling the TARDIS's telepathic tendrils to no more than a whisper in the back of the confused angel's mind.

"Koschei…" he whispered, the name of his childhood friend falling from his lips as he stared at the spot where the Master had stood only moments before.

"Cas! Cas! Hey, Cas! Let us in!" Dean's voice called from outside the door, and the Doctor finally became cognizant of their continued attempts to break the door down.

Walking over, he carefully unlocked the door, allowing the frenzied hunter to spill forward onto the console floor. Looking out, he saw five broken lock picks and a concerned Bobby and Sam.

Their faces suddenly morphed into ones of pure shock as they looked behind the Doctor, and with a small smile, the Angel of Time stepped aside to allow them full view of the interior.

"Whoa..." came Sam's sigh of awe, and both men stumbled in as Dean slowly stood up, his eyes wide and senses going into overdrive as he found himself surrounded by a whole encyclopedia full of weirdness. His hunter instincts were telling him to snap out and fight, but there was nothing _to_ fight. Just an empty room that shouldn't exist, one that was way bigger than it appeared on the outside. Moving as a unit, all three hunters moved back out the door and circled the box, walking the whole perimeter before peeking their heads back inside the doorway.

"Balls!" Bobby whispered, the older hunter damn near close to having a heart attack as he stared at the massive blue pillar in the center of the room. Dean stepped up beside the Doctor, his eyes still roaming over every nook and cranny of the room as if looking for threats, his hands balled into fists and his body tense, not quite sure what to do with himself. "Cas," he whispered, still not averting his eyes from the room. "Mind explaining what I'm looking at. Because you've done some crazy shit before, really, you have, but man, this takes the cake!" he said.

"I'll say," Bobby said, finally mustering the courage to step into the room. "This takes the cake, pie, prize, and whole derby trophy!" he said in his typical surly voice.

Sam strode up to the central column, his face wide with wonder, looking as if his birthday, Christmas, Halloween, and a few other holidays had happened at the same time. He spun around on the Doctor, his puppy-dog eyes going full. "What is it?" he asked, his 'I-am-an-information-sponge-please-tell-me-everything!' look on his face. The Doctor's face finally split into his trademark grin, his brown and blue eyes catching their usual energetic fire as he shoved his hands in his brown coat pockets and shifted a little.

"Welcome to the TARDIS," he said dramatically, patting the console fondly. "Stands for 'Time And Relative Dimension In Space!'" he said excitedly. A light bulb suddenly turned on over Sam's head as the Doctor's words registered. "You mean, time. As in, going back in time? This is a time machine?" he asked incredulously.

The Doctor's face morphed into a huge grin. "Not just a Time machine," he said, rushing over and jumping onto the main platform. "This can take you anywhere you want to go in the universe. Or any-when, if you're in the mood. Save the world fifteen times and still be home in time for tea, that's my motto," he said cheerily, and Sam practically melted, all of his sci-fi fantasies having suddenly been realized.

The Doctor turned to look at the other two, who were still hovering uncertainly near the doorway. "So, what do you think?" he asked, his six wings spreading out proudly, unseen by the three hunters.

Dean looked around one more time before finally turning his moss green eyes on the Doctor. "It's…bigger on the inside," he said finally, and the Doctor felt little chills run over his body and wings as he heard those words leave Dean's mouth. "I love it when people say that!" he said, before closing the door with a snap of his fingers. Dean and Bobby exchanged glances, eyes widening as they realized that just been trapped inside of a room with a possibly insane angel/alien that also happened to be Castiel and some other wired guy wrapped up in one. Not good.

"Might want to hold onto something!" the Doctor said seriously, before dashing to the controls.

"Wait what are you-" Sam started to say, but was interrupted when the TARDIS gave a lurch. "Allons-y!" the Doctor cried as the central column began to move up and down, and he started running around the console like a madman, taking the TARDIS for a quote-on-quote, 'joy-ride.' He set the TARDIS down over the Impala, making sure to warp the car directly into the old girl's onboard garage, and then they were off to who knows where, the Doctor laughing with wild abandon as the three hunters held on for dear life.

* * *

Edgar was annoyed. Really, he was truly starting to get irritated with his boss. Dick had been unrelenting in his assignments, sending the high ranking Leviathan all over the country on various jobs. It was a little demeaning, but Edgar was a Beta, and Dick was the Alpha. He, along with seven other Betas, were pretty much at the Alpha's beck and call, and whatever he said, you didn't question it.

Edgar was currently sitting in the waiting room in one of the test and development plants where they had been manufacturing the food additives use in the Biggerson's Terducken meat. He looked around, wondering why the building even bothered using human employees when there were enough Leviathans to man this place. But, there it was again, that one, irritating little sentence, "Don't question the Boss." He sighed again, and glanced at his watch. 5:47 it read, and he let out another exasperated sigh and slumped back in his seat. He had been sitting here for over an hour, and the little idiots still wouldn't let him in. Oh, someone was going to pay for this. He didn't care who, just someone.

He glanced up when a female employee approached him with and electronic sketch pad in her hand, which she kept glancing down at. She stopped before Edgar, checking her pad one more time before fixing the Leviathan with an oddly blank look. "Mr. Maxwell will see you now," she said in a monotone voice, and Edgar nodded and stood, following the woman as she turned swiftly on her heels and strode from the room. His better than human sight and hearing picked up a slight beeping and flashing coming from ear pods the woman had on, and he rolled his eyes. Humans and their gadgets.

The woman stopped before a door and turned, indicating that she would not be leading him any further and that Edgar should enter. Snorting, he strode past her and entered the room, only to halt a few feet past the doorway as he was faced with a dark room. His senses began to go on full alert as he heard the door shut behind him, accompanied by the small click indicating it was now locked. Oh well, he could always just tear the walls down if he really had to, but this had better not be some sort of sick surprise. Suddenly, the lights flicked on and Edgar let out a yelp of surprise.

Splattered all across the walls was black ooze, the remnants of some poor Leviathans who seemed to have been somehow dismembered. Looking around, he saw a pile of bodies in the corner, all headless and wearing white lab coats. The remains of the research team.

Just then, the door opposite to him opened, and a strange creature marched in. Its entire body seemed to be encased in metal, and he could see a glowing blue circle in the center of its chest. As it stepped through the doorway, Edgar finally got a good look at it.

It was humanoid, at around six foot five and relatively sleek. The creature had no face, just a flat sheet of metal with two holes and a line where the eyes and mouth should be. A metal rod traced its head, attaching on either side of its head where ears should be. It had a glowing blue circle in its chest, where two raised ridges met, forming an x. The rest of the creature's sternum was ridged, allowing for moderated flexibility. Its overall shape was that of a soldier, but it seemed more powerful, more confidant. On its right arm was a raised ridge, which seemed to be smoldering. It stopped as it stepped through the doorway, feet planted and eye-holes staring at the Leviathan.

"Well, what are you supposed to be?" Edgar finally asked. The creature straightened and looked at him, no expression visible anywhere on its body. "Designate unit 12 of the 3rd Cyberlegion. We are the next level of human evolution," it said in a deep, robotic, monotone voice. The voice didn't sound organic at all, but instead more like what would happen if you hooked up a speak-and-spell to a bass synthesizer, and it sent chills down the Leviathan's pseudo-spine. "We have been upgraded beyond sickness. Beyond death. We cannot feel pain, and soon, we will upgrade the whole of the human race. We are the Cybermen!" it stated, and Edgar had a feeling that if it could, it would have smiled with pride.

As it spoke, its mouth line flashed blue with each syllable it pronounced, making the whole conversation seem eerie and unreal. Edgar's eyes narrowed slightly, not liking the sound of that last part. The part about upgrading the human race. His eyes were drawn back to the pile of bodies. "What happened here?" he asked, and the Cyberman once again answered in his deep, metallic voice. "We have acquired this facility for the advancement of the conquest of Earth."

"And them?" Edgar asked, gesturing to the pile of bodies. The Cyberman shifted to look at the pile, before turning back to Edgar. "They were incompatible. Therefore, they were deleted."

Suddenly, the Cyberman snapped its right arm up to its chest with an audible click. "Scans detect that you are a member of the inferior race known as Leviathans," the Cyberman said, and Edgar felt his fists clenching at its words. Inferior?! _HIM?!_ He'd show this bucket of bolts exactly how inferior the Leviathans were: _by ripping his stupid metal head off!_

"You are incompatible," the Cyberman continued, extending its right hand in a fist, palm facing down, while the raised ridge began to glow blue. Edgar tensed and shifted into a fighting stance. "DELETE!" the Cyberman cried, and before Edgar could even flinch, a pulse shot out of the ridge and shot straight towards him.

'Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!' Edgar practically screamed as the pulse ripped through his chest, scalding his molecular make up like a thousand buckets of borax solution. He could feel the burning trying to cleanse him, trying to wipe him off the face of the Earth, and if he were any lesser Leviathan he would have been incapacitated by the pain. However, he was a Beta, one of only eight in the entire world, and his strength was second only to that of the Alpha, Dick Roman. He saw the ridge about to fire again, and ducked out of the way just as the Cyberman let off a shot from his plasma gun, as he now realized the ridge was. Rolling, Edgar tried to put some distance between him and his attacker, managing to take cover behind an overturned office desk just as another shot swept across the room and blew a hole in the wall inches from where he had just been standing.

Taking a gulp of air, Edgar forced his fear down. Now was not the time to become paralyzed with fear. He was an Old One, damn it! He was here before God even made souls, and he was not going to let this _machine_ beat him! Picking up a stapler, he chanced a quick peak over the desk to see the Cyberman advancing, gun arm raised. His superior eyes took in the Cyberman's speed and angle of direction, coupled with the air resistance and the resistance factor of steel. He performed several quick calculations, his impossibly sharp mind calculating the exact course he needed to take, and in one fluid motion he spun out from behind the desk and hurled the stapler at the Cyberman.

His aim was dead on, and the stapler struck the gun arm with enough force to knock it up into the air and away from Edgar. In the blink of an eye Edgar was right in close to the Cyberman, his arm grabbing a hold of the gun. With a snarl, Edgar yanked his arm back with terrific force, tearing the gun and half of the Cyberman's appendage right off. Opening his mouth to its true form, he allowed his naturally occurring acid to form on his twin rows of teeth before lunging forward and sinking them into the neck and shoulder are of the Cyberman, feeling the satisfying crunch of metal and breaking circuits beneath his unnaturally powerful jaws.

The Cyberman, however, was un phased by the Leviathan's attack, and with a grunt of surprise Edgar found himself being hurled off his opponent with surprising force. He landed halfway across the room, electricity sparking off his teeth as a stray circuit remained caught in his teeth. Edgar had just enough time to register the Cyberman had already made it across the room, before he had to snap his upper body and head back to avoid the sweeping karate chop of the Cyberman's left hand. He felt the tips of the metal fingers just barely graze his skin, and he realized that if he had not moved when he did the Cyberman would have taken his head off.

'Fuck, they're fast!' he thought, snapping his head to the side as the Cyberman shot its hand forward, puncturing the wall behind him and filling the room with powdered plaster dust. Edgar rolled away again, only this time the Cyberman seemed to have learned from before and the Leviathan had to spring away almost instantly after completing the roll to avoid being crushed by the things foot.

He needed to end this quickly, he thought, and sped up his movements, once again going on the offensive. He spun to the right side of the Cyberman, where he had inflicted the most damage, and tried to lunge in again, his mouth unhinging as he did so. This time it was the Cyberman who sprang back, its movements quick and efficient. With fluid grace, it snapped its right leg up, landing a perfect, powerful kick right on Edgar's diaphragm. Had Edgar been a human, he would have probably gone down for the count, but as it was he only let out a small exhale and snapped both his hands down, catching the leg before it could be retracted. He flexed his hyper-powerful arms, and with a snap, the Cyberman's right leg was gone from the shin down.

The Cyberman let out a groan as it lost feeling in its right leg sensors, and its systems threatened to go into sleep mode. It had one last trick left to try though, and in one swift motion shifted its balance onto the severed right knee cap. Edgar felt the thing place the kneecap right on his leg, balancing its weight, before its left hand snapped up to grab him by the neck in a vice like grip. "DELETE!" the Cyberman shouted, and Edgar let out a scream of pain as electricity suddenly shot out of the Cyberman and into his neck through the arm. He could feel his vision going numb as the voltage bombarded his cranial faculties, and he felt his vision going fuzzy. One last desperate idea swept through his mind as one of his twin tongues swept over the circuit caught in his teeth, and with a frenzied screech, he snapped his true mouth open, electricity flowing around his teeth as the wattage continued to pour into him, and he felt the small piece of metal begin to practically scream with electricity. Snapping forward, he sank both his teeth and the now almost melting circuit into the Cyberman's neck, right below where the head attached.

The electricity flowed through the circuit and back into the Cyberman, frying vital circuits and killing what few internal organs it had. Edgar had literally turned himself into a conductor, channeling the electricity flowing from the Cyberman into him to his mouth, where it hit the circuit and became polarized, and finally back into the Cyberman, only this time in a much more vital area, and therefore inflicting more damage on it than it was doing to Edgar. The Leviathan held on, not daring to let go of his grip, his right hand snapping up to keep the Cyberman's hand on his neck even as tears of pain welled in his eyes. The Cyberman let out a dying scream, and slowly, oh so slowly, the voltage became weaker and weaker as the Cyberman's life force was drained, until finally it lay limp and sparking. The light in its chest dimmed, flickered, and went out. The hand fell from Edgar's neck, and the Leviathan finally retracted his teeth, letting the circuit flow out as well.

With a clatter, the remains of the Cyberman fell to the floor, where it lay in a heap of broken and dead metal. Edgar's back slammed against the wall, his chest heaving in short pants as he struggled to regain his breathing. That had been the hardest and closest fight he had ever been in, and had he been any lesser being, he knew for sure that he would have died.

Suddenly, his ears picked up metallic marching. Numerous pairs. More Cybermen! Edgar's heartbeat shot up, and he realized that if he were to be faced with more of these things, there was no way he could survive. He glanced down at the dead Cyberman at his feet, then over to the pile of bodies in the corner. "An eye for an eye?" he asked quietly, recalling the human saying as he bent down and ripped the head off the Cyberman. It wasn't revenge, really. He just wanted to have something to show his Alpha. Along with proof as to why he decided to destroy such a valuable research center.

Tucking the head into his jacket, Edgar stumbled over to the entrance door and pushed it open, the lock having been blown off sometime during the course of the fight. Staggering forward, he heard the approaching sound of marching Cybermen and quickened his pace. He burst out into the lobby, causing many gasps from on looking humans. Not giving a damn about them, he raced over to the secretary's desk as fast as his tired legs could carry him. Pushing the confused woman out of the way, he didn't even glance at her when she screamed an insult at him and tried to push him away from the computer.

Grabbing the keyboard, Edgar pounded furiously away, bringing up the schematic of the building and arming the four high level explosives he knew were placed in the building in order to cause an efficient and total collapse. It was standard procedure in all their designs, made to ensure that if for some reason the data gathered from their research facilities was in anyway compromised, the Leviathans could completely eradicate any evidence of its existence. A dialogue box popped up, asking if he was sure he wanted to continue. 'Fuck, of course I want to continue! Why else would I fucking be trying to blow up the building?' he thought, smashing the accept button as hard as he could. He cursed when another box popped up, asking for confidential password.

He was going to _eat_ the person responsible for this, he promised himself as he smashed the numbers and letters in, and a small 'bing' sounded as a timer popped up, letting him start the countdown. 'Why can't there just be a big red button?' he asked as he typed in ten seconds, metallic footsteps reaching his ears. He heard the 'bing' sound again, and the timer began to count down. Dashing away, the Leviathan full on sprinted away from the computer, smashing through the reinforced glass windows as if it were made of cob-webs. He picked up speed as he raced across the asphalt of the parking lot, the seconds counted down, and he was already a football field away when the first explosion went off, followed quickly by a second, third, and finally a fourth.

With an earth shattering groan, the three story research center collapsed all the way down to the basement, crushing any people, plants, animals, and (hopefully) Cybermen that were unfortunate enough to get caught inside. The shockwaves sent him slamming to the ground, where the harsh asphalt cut into his skin, leaving black marks on the otherwise grimy asphalt. Already he was scraping himself up, running, trying to put some distance between himself and any surviving Cybermen that may have thoughts of vengeance. Racing over, he found his car and hopped into the driver's seat, slamming the gas down full as soon as the car was started. The poor vehicle tore up the road as its driver sped away from the demolished building, watching the mileage on his gas tank rise. One mile, five miles, ten miles, twenty. Thirty.

Only when he was fifty miles away and the town he was in was no longer in sight, did Edgar dare finally start easing his foot back off the accelerator. The car groaned as it slowed its chugging, the engine pumping its coolant as it threatened to overheat. Edgar practically collapsed on the wheel, his knuckles white from gripping it so hard, and he was pretty sure that he had left some permanent indentations on both the wheel and the gas pedal.

With a sigh, he pulled out his phone and called speed dial one, sending him straight to the boss. Putting the phone to his ear, he listened as the phone rang three times before he heard his Alpha finally pick up. "Sorry Charlie, I've got to take this," he heard Dick say on the other end, and he groaned with impatience as he heard his boss laugh at something the person said. "I'll let you know when. Until then, you just keep doing a good job, and get me those results!"

There was a pause on the line as Dick presumably resettled himself. "What?" he finally asked, none of his charm flowing over into his voice, and the hint of a growl laced into his tone. It made the Beta shiver slightly. "I have a report for you," Edgar said, his voice steady and not shaking despite how he felt on the inside. "Already?" he heard Dick's 'boss voice' ask. "That's great news. Shows initiative, I like that," Dick said, and Edgar could almost hear the half smile forming on his Alpha's face.

"Cut the crap, Dick. This is serious," Edgar said, and he heard the slight intake of breath on the other line. He was lucky that he and Dick shared such a close contact, or otherwise he might have been bibbed for using such a tone with someone of Dick's stature. But that was that, and he really didn't have time to listen to Dick explain the value of employee dependence and all that business crap he had gotten himself wrapped up in. "What do you have?" he heard Dick ask. Edgar sighed and looked down at his thumbs, twiddling them nervously.

"I had to terminate the research facility," he said quickly. "Complete demolition."

He heard Dick shake the phone around, probably going into some kind of hair pulling frenzy, and he knew that someone, somewhere, was going to get tortured and eaten tonight. "Why, oh why why why, would you do that?!" Dick asked, his teeth clenching audible on the phone, and Edgar could imagine that he was having to restrain from shrieking and exposing his true mouth. Understandable too, considering the facility Edgar was at had been responsible for front-lining the new drug used in the Terducken chicken. Destroying it had set them back by about five months, but Edgar felt that the benefits far outweighed the down sides.

"I feel it would be better to explain in purpose. I…ran into some complications." Edgar said, glancing down at the Cyberman head that was resting in the passenger seat. He had a strange feeling that it was watching him for some reason, even though he knew it was dead.

"Hmm, you'd better have a full report when you talk to me again. And, Edgar? This had better be a big freaking deal, or you, my friend, are in some serious water," Dick said, his malice dripping from his words. Edgar glanced at the head again, and a small smile crossed his face.

"Oh it is, sir. It certainly is," he said, before taking a left to exit the road he was on. "I'm headed east now. I should be there by morning if I don't stop," he said, and he heard Dick's rumble of approval. "See that you do," he heard the Alpha say, before the click of a phone shutting reached his ears. Edgar sighed and set the phone down, glancing down at the Cyberman head one more time before diverting his eyes back to the road. Tomorrow would be a big day, and he would need all the strength he could get. And with that thought, he settled back in his seat, relaxing for the first time since the fight, unaware of what his actions had triggered.

* * *

Far above the little Leviathan, a telepathic command reached fifteen satellites that were still in orbit even after two years of disuse. Reactivating, the satellites realigned in their orbit, beginning to once again transmit a message onto the world.

The archangel network had reactivated, sending its message in a steady beat of four:

"Lucifer rises! Lucifer rises! Lucifer rises! Lucifer Rises!"

1-2-3-4!

* * *

**Oh-ho-ho! Yay! That was fun. Now, I at first wasn't sure how to write a Leviathan, but, as it turns out, Edgar just comes naturally for me. Writing Dick was a bit of a stretch, but I think I can get the hang of it. I hope the Cyberman wasn't to cheesy, and in case you're wondering, I'M USING THE SEASON 7 CYBERMEN. Their design is way cooler and sleeker than the old steampunk models, and much better for fighting Leviathans in my opinion. Not to mention altogether scarier. Tell me if you have any suggestions on how to make this chapter flow better.**

**Oh, by the way, how was the fight sequence? It's my first one, and I didn't want it to appear to choppy. Let me know if you thought it was good.**

**Rate and Review! Ta-ta!- **Arudon


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